


A League Of Their Own: Part 1

by TheTrashiverse



Series: A League Of Their Own [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Coming Out, Crushes, Established Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Eventual Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov/Yuri Plisetsky, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Identity, Genderfluid Character, Genderfluid Phichit Chulanont, Genderqueer Character, Genderqueer Victor Nikiforov, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Katsuki Yuuri, Nonbinary Phichit Chulanont, Nonbinary Victor Nikiforov, Nonbinary Yuri Plisetsky, Other, Questioning, Slow Burn, Trans, Trans Character, Trans Katsuki Yuuri, Trans Phichit Chulanont, Trans Victor Nikiforov, Trans Yuri Plisetsky, Transmasculine Katsuki Yuuri, chosen family, gender euphoria
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 45,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28163157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTrashiverse/pseuds/TheTrashiverse
Summary: “…Your secret is safe, whatever it is.”“It’s — ” Yuri gulped, trying not to choke on the words, “... it was my pronouns.”After accidentally outing themself to Yuuri at the 2018 Grand Prix Final, Yuri finds an unexpected support system in Yuuri and Viktor. As the three of them bond over their experiences as nonbinary athletes in a very traditional sport, they grow closer than ever, navigating friendships, feelings, and coming out along the way.Part 1 of this trilogy spans the early stages of Yuri's coming-out journey.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri & Victor Nikiforov & Yuri Plisetsky, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov/Yuri Plisetsky, Otabek Altin & Yuri Plisetsky
Series: A League Of Their Own [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2063220
Comments: 62
Kudos: 78





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to my Yuri On Ice nonbinary AU!
> 
> So I've had this idea for... something like 2 years now? And I'm beyond excited to finally be posting it! As a nonbinary person myself, I'm always looking for more representation, and the Yuri On Ice fandom seemed like a great place to bring some of that. This fic is an exploration of gender identity, coming out, finding chosen family, and falling in love — all through the lens of characters who compete in a sport that is rigid in its gender-based traditions. Regardless of your own gender, I hope you find this story relatable. There's something here for everyone.
> 
> A couple of things to note before you dive in...
> 
> There will be potentially sensitive material regarding trans and nonbinary issues in this story, including experiences of gender dysphoria. I have tagged for this but will include more specific warnings in the notes at the beginning of each chapter.  
> Yuri Plisetsky uses they/them pronouns in this story. There are a few instances where other characters use the wrong pronouns for them, but they/them should always be the pronouns used in the narration. So if you see anywhere I've made a mistake, please point it out in the comments! I don't want to misgender my favorite ice tiger. I have done multiple edit passes and I have the fantastic Darth_Claire beta reading for me, but there's always a chance something slipped through the cracks (especially since I'm also working on other fics where Yuri uses he/him pronouns like on the show).  
> This story starts out with established Viktuuri, with an eventual slow-burn romance leading to Viktuurio. Yuri is 18 when the story begins and will be on the verge of 20 by the time all three of them get together, so there is no underage content (just the canon age gap).  
> This fic is part 1 of a trilogy! The first fic is fully written, currently being edited, and will update with a new chapter every Saturday. Parts 2 and 3 are fully outlined and the writing is underway. However, I'm not the fastest or most consistent writer, so I'm not sure when those will start being posted. I can promise that none of the fics in the trilogy will leave off on a cliff hanger, though. Subscribe to the series for updates!  
> The title, A League Of Their Own, was shamelessly borrowed from one of my favorite sports movies of all time.  
> Specific warnings for this chapter: gender dysphoria, closeted nonbinary character, accidental outing
> 
> And without further ado, let's get to the fic! I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> (See the end of the work for more notes.)

* * *

**_December 2018, Grand Prix Final, Vancouver_ **   
  


“Gentlemen, your warm-up has ended,” the announcer’s voice boomed through the stadium, the peppy dance beat in the background coming to an abrupt close. “Please leave the ice.” 

Yuri swallowed and sped over to the boards to meet Yakov. The group warm-up was always brutal, but being the first to skate made it even worse. Especially at the Grand Prix Final.

Yakov’s hands latched onto Yuri’s wrists. As he leaned in closer to give his final words of advice, he paused, eyes widening a fraction. He could probably feel Yuri trembling.

“All right?” he asked, voice low and confidential. 

Yuri forced a stiff nod.

Yakov returned it, eyes growing steely as they locked onto Yuri’s.

“Good,” he said. “You know what to do.” 

Yuri nodded again, released a slow, calming breath, and let the words come pouring out.

“They, them, theirs,” Yuri whispered, gazing down at the boards. “They, them, theirs. They, them, theirs…” 

As always, the soothing chant was like a balm in the face of those heart-pounding final moments before their skate. It had been Lilia’s idea — a little reminder of who Yuri really was when the stress of skating in the men’s division got to be too much — and it had worked like a charm for the past two seasons. Yuri let everything else fall away as they kept muttering the words under their breath, hands gripping the boards as if clinging to their truth.

“First to skate,” the announcer’s voice returned a few moments later, “representing Russia…” and Yuri snapped to attention. Their eyes shot back up — and landed right on Yuuri Katsuki’s. Too late, they realized that their mouth was still moving.

_Fuck._

Yuuri gave them a little wave, smiling and calling out a quick, “Davai!” before turning around to head backstage. But the damage was done. There was no way he hadn’t seen. 

And now the announcer was calling Yuri’s name and Yakov was pushing them toward the center of the ice, and they had to perform their short program knowing that their biggest rival had just found out their deepest secret. 

_Fuck, fuck, FUCK._

Yuri took their starting position with a dry mouth and a racing heart. There was no private ritual they could do out here with thousands of eyes on them, no way to calm themself back down. They would just have to skate with fear flooding every nerve and limb, and hope their body would channel it into adrenaline in the moments when it counted.

The music started to play and Yuri took off, trying to shove everything out of their mind but the ice.

Yuri cornered Yuuri in the locker room as soon as the short program was over. 

“Tell anyone what you saw,” they hissed, fingers twisting in Yuuri’s Team Japan jacket as they dragged him into a deserted corner, “and I will end you. The last thing you see will be my knife shoes.” 

Yuuri’s brows shot up.

“ _W-what_?” 

“Don’t play stupid with me, Katsudon,” Yuri said, pushing Yuuri against the lockers. “I know you saw what I said right before my skate.” They tried to keep their tone threatening despite the tremor that had crept into their voice. “You can’t tell a soul, understand?” 

“Tell them what?” Yuuri asked, struggling against Yuri’s grip. “I saw you talking, but I can’t read lips, Yurio.” 

Yuri froze. 

“...Are you serious?” 

“Yes,” Yuuri said. “Your secret is safe, whatever it is.” 

Yuri sighed, letting go of Yuuri’s jacket and shoving their hand into their hair instead. 

_God-fucking-dammit._ How could they have been such an idiot? Of course Yuuri hadn’t been able to tell what they were saying — the two of them had only locked eyes for a second. And Yuuri had his own skate to worry about. Why would he care about the words coming out of Yuri’s mouth? Hell, for all he knew, they could have been speaking Russian. 

And now, if Yuri didn’t explain, Yuuri was going to think they’d lost their mind.

“It’s — ” Yuri gulped, trying not to choke on the words, “... it was my pronouns.” 

Yuuri blinked. 

“Oh,” he said softly.

“I do it at every competition,” Yuri added, blood pounding in their ears. Their face felt too hot, the room too small. “When we warm up, it’s always ‘he’ this and ‘gentlemen’ that, you know? And I can’t let it fuck with my mind when I’m about to skate. I have to block it out. So before I take the ice, I just say my pronouns over and over — they, them, theirs.” 

They sucked down a ragged breath, hands twisting in their front pockets.

“But today I wasn’t careful enough,” they continued, voice growing shakier. “I looked right at you and I just kept saying it, and I thought that — ” 

“Yurio.” 

Yuuri cut them off with a hand on their arm. The gentle touch stopped Yuri in their tracks.

“It’s okay,” Yuuri said, eyes warm and voice soothing. “I understand. I, um…” He glanced away uncertainly for a moment, then returned his gaze to Yuri’s. “...I’m nonbinary too.” 

Yuri’s mouth fell open.

“So is Viktor,” Yuuri added.

And, okay, _that_ wasn’t quite as shocking — Viktor’s teenage genderbending looks on the ice had been a huge part of Yuri’s own awakening — but Yuri still couldn’t believe what they had just heard. The idea of meeting others like them had always felt like a distant fantasy, something they could only achieve through a phone or computer screen. To think that not one, but two such people had been training with them, had been friends with them, had been living right under their nose this whole time… 

“I know it’s not my place to tell you that,” Yuuri said hastily, snapping Yuri out of their thoughts, “but… under the circumstances, I don’t think Vitya would mind.” He gave Yuri a tentative smile and softly patted their arm. “We’re both here for you if you need us.” 

Yuri’s mind was racing. There were a million things they wanted to say, all scrambling to get to the surface at once but not quite reaching their mouth. The only thing they were able to get out was a strangled, “...Huh?” 

Before they knew what was happening, Yuuri was moving in closer, wrapping his arms around them and holding on tight. 

Yuri started to pull back, bewildered, but after a few moments they let themself sag against Yuuri’s frame, forehead dropping to his shoulder. The tension drained out of their body as Yuuri’s hands rubbed soothing circles into their back. It was so overwhelmingly good to finally have someone who knew how they felt — even if it _was_ Katsudon.

“If you want to pretend none of this ever happened, I’ll understand,” Yuuri murmured into Yuri’s hair, “and I’ll take your secret to the grave. But this is a lot to carry around… especially at eighteen.” He gave their shoulders a squeeze. “You shouldn’t have to do it alone.” 

Yuri managed a single nod against Yuuri’s chest before their vision started to blur.

 _Shit_. No fucking way were they going to let themself cry right now. They bit their lip, clinging hard to Yuuri’s back as they fought for control.

“Hey, I have an idea,” Yuuri said, and he must have noticed Yuri’s struggle, because it sounded like he was trying to make his tone as lighthearted as possible. “Why don’t you have dinner with us tonight?” 

Yuri finally pulled back enough to look at Yuuri, hoping like hell that their eyes weren’t too wet.

“We can talk about all of this, if you want,” Yuuri said. “Or not — we can just relax and have fun. Whatever you’d rather do.” 

“I…” 

It was a tempting offer. The chance to let out everything they’d been bottling up for years, with people who would actually _get it_ , seemed almost too good to be true. And right now, it was also a little too much. Just imagining it made their chest feel like it was about to burst.

“...I’ll think about it,” Yuri said, kicking absently at the floor.

Yuuri took that as his cue to step out of Yuri’s space, and for an instant, Yuri felt a strange urge to pull him back in. But he was already heading toward the door.

“Let us know what you decide, okay?” he called over his shoulder.

“Mm,” Yuri nodded, fists clenching as they willed their churning gut to calm down. Just as Yuuri was about to disappear into the hallway, they added, “Hey, Katsudon?” 

Yuuri stopped and turned to look back at them.

“...Thanks,” Yuri whispered.

Yuuri smiled.

“Of course.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...And now this AU is officially underway! I hope you liked the first chapter and that you'll be back to read more. Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought!
> 
> I've also written a few other [Yuri On Ice fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTrashiverse/works?fandom_id=11444638) if you want to check those out (1 Viktuuri and 3 Viktuurio).
> 
> Follow my [fandom Twitter](https://twitter.com/TheTrashiverse) (18+/NSFW) for art, fic recs, and random shitposting about my favorite ships.
> 
> That's it for now! See y'all in a week for the next chapter!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 2! This one's longer and juicier than the first one (which was really more of a prologue). All of the other chapters will be closer to this length from here on out.
> 
> Chapter-specific warnings: unintentional misgendering and resulting mild dysphoria, coming out to close friends, talking about past dysphoria, thinking about coming out publicly and panicking
> 
> And without further ado, here we go!

* * *

**_December 2018, Saint Petersburg_ **  
  


Yuri raised their hand to knock on the door — and lowered it again at the last second, for what must have been the twentieth time.

_Dammit. When did you get so pathetic?_

After their encounter with Yuuri in the locker room, they’d texted him to accept his offer for dinner with him and Viktor, but asked to wait until the Final was over. Coming out unexpectedly was one thing… actually _talking_ about it was another. Especially when Yuri had still had a competition to win.

But now that Yuri was back in Saint Petersburg with their gold medal, they had no more excuses.

None but their own fear.

Which was ridiculous. How many hours had they spent crawling through forums and lurking on blogs just to prove they weren’t making this up? How many years had they dreamed of the moment when they’d finally get to meet a fellow enby in person? Sure, this wasn’t exactly how they’d expected it to happen... but now that they had this opportunity, what the hell was still holding them back?

 _Nothing_ , they thought with a decisive kick to the door.

Yuuri opened it almost immediately.

“Yurio! Come in!” 

The nerves that had been bubbling in Yuri’s stomach exploded as they followed Yuuri inside. They drew in a steadying breath and tried to focus on anything else… like the delicious scent of miso that hung in the air.

“Vitya,” Yuuri called across the apartment, “Yurio’s here!” 

“Oh, good!” Viktor answered from the kitchen. “Tell him dinner’s almost ready.” 

Yuri flinched, the wrongness of the pronoun catching like a barb in their chest. Though the sting was all too familiar, for some reason it hurt more than usual this time. 

Yuuri must have noticed their discomfort, because he was leaning in and softly asking, “Do you want me to say something?” 

Yuri opened their mouth to reply, but stopped short when they realized they didn’t have an answer. They’d never been in this situation before, where correcting someone on their pronouns was even an option. Yet here Yuuri was, offering to do just that — and help them come out to Viktor at the same time. 

It was too good to resist.

“Well, _yeah_ ,” Yuri said, hoping their sarcastic tone was enough to hide the nervous anticipation sparking inside them. “Isn’t that kind of why I’m here?” 

Yuuri smiled, patting Yuri on the back, and said casually, “Hey, Vitya? Yurio actually uses they/them pronouns.” 

Yuri heard what sounded like a spoon clattering onto the countertop, then the next thing they knew, they were being swept all the way off the ground in a firm embrace.

_What the fuck._

“Yura!” Viktor exclaimed. “My goodness, I had no idea!” 

“No shit,” Yuri said, squirming a little against the tightness of Viktor’s hold, “I never said anything before now.” The words came out a bit muffled where their face was squished against Viktor’s chest. 

Viktor finally put Yuri down, pulling back just enough to look them in the eye.

“All these years,” he muttered, shaking his head, “and I never knew we had so much in common.” His gaze flicked down to the floor. “I mean — I’m genderqueer myself, you know?” 

Yuri’s breath caught when Viktor glanced back up at them. They’d never seen him look so vulnerable. Knowing what he was feeling all too well, they swallowed and cracked what they hoped was an encouraging smile.

“Yeah,” they said, “yeah, I do know.”

Viktor’s eyebrows shot up. 

“I hope you don’t mind that I told them, Vitya,” Yuuri piped up sheepishly. “At the Final, I sort of… stumbled onto the fact that Yuri is nonbinary? So I told them we both are too, and invited them over for dinner.” He bit his lower lip, fingers picking at the edges of his sleeves. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you first, I just thought — ” 

“No, no,” Viktor broke in, dropping his hold on Yuri to reach over and squeeze Yuuri’s hands. “It’s okay… in that situation, I probably would have done the same thing.” 

Yuuri smiled up at Viktor, shoulders sagging with relief. Viktor beamed back down at him for a few seconds before leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead.

Yuri pointedly cleared their throat.

“Okay, you saps,” they said, and Yuuri at least had the good sense to look embarrassed. Viktor just kept staring at Yuuri, shameless as ever. _Gross._ “Now that we’ve got all that awkward crap out of the way… what’s for dinner?” 

“Ramen!” Viktor exclaimed, detaching himself from his fiancé and ushering Yuri to the table. He popped back over to the stove, checking on the various pots and pans that simmered there, then reached into the cabinet for bowls. “Yuuri let me make everything myself!” 

“Should I be worried?” Yuri snorted. 

“Worried?” Viktor cried, throwing an arm across his forehead in mock offense. “You cut me to the quick, Yura!” 

“Hey,” Yuri said, “I haven’t forgotten the days when you lived on nothing but takeout because you would poison yourself otherwise.” 

“Well, I’ve learned a lot about cooking since Yuuri moved in,” Viktor said, filling one of the bowls and adding various toppings. He slid it across the table to Yuri. “See for yourself.” 

Yuri leaned down and inhaled, letting the scent of the miso broth wash over them. The ramen smelled perfect — and looked perfect too, the noodles artfully garnished with sliced pork tenderloin, sweet potatoes, seaweed, spinach, bean sprouts, and a soft boiled egg. If Yuri hadn’t known any better, they could have sworn the dish came straight out of Yuuri’s parents’ kitchen.

Speaking of which… 

“You know,” Yuri said, “I’m surprised you didn’t make katsudon instead. Isn’t that what you two usually have after a competition?” 

“Only when Yuuri wins gold,” Viktor teased, earning himself an eyeroll from Yuuri as he began filling another bowl. 

“You’d think silver would at least be good enough for pork belly instead of tenderloin,” Yuuri grumbled in mock frustration as Viktor placed his meal in front of him. 

“Not unless you want a pork belly on the ice,” Viktor giggled, poking Yuuri’s stomach affectionately and dodging the playful swat Yuuri aimed his way. He hurried back over to the stove to fix his own bowl.

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” Yuuri said. “Once the season’s over, I can eat whatever I want.” 

“You don’t stick to your training diet during the off-season?” Yuri said incredulously. When they’d only grown a couple of centimeters instead of hitting the major spurt Lilia had anticipated a few years ago, Yuri had been forced to start strictly watching what they ate. They couldn’t believe Yuuri was so cavalier about it — especially knowing how easily he put on weight.

“I did,” Yuuri answered, “but this is my last season, so I won’t have to anymore.” 

Yuri’s jaw dropped. 

“...You’re _retiring_?!” 

“Keep it to yourself, okay?” Viktor said, joining them at the table. “We’re not going to announce it to the public until after Worlds.” 

Yuri twisted their napkin between their hands, struggling for words. It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice down their back. How could Yuuri just... end his career? And how could he and Viktor talk about it like it wasn’t a big deal?

“Yurio?” Yuuri’s voice cut through their racing thoughts. “Are you okay?” 

“No!” Yuri spluttered before they could stop themself. “It’s bad enough that you retired already,” they said, jabbing a finger in Viktor’s direction, “but now both of you? What am I supposed to do next season? There won’t be any good competition left!” 

“I won’t tell Otabek you said that,” Viktor smirked.

Yuri ignored him and turned their fiercest glare on Yuuri.

“I can’t believe you didn’t say something until now.” 

Yuuri’s eyes widened.

“I didn’t think you’d care.” 

_Of course not_ , Yuri thought bitterly. _You’re only the biggest rival I’ve ever had, who’s been there every step of the way since my senior debut. Why the fuck would I care?_

Yuri’s unspoken words must have bled through their gaze, because Yuuri quickly averted his. He reached out and laid his hand across Yuri’s wrist.

“I’m sorry, Yurio.” 

His eyes flicked back up to Yuri’s, meeting them with sincerity and what looked like a twinge of regret. The expression did something strange to Yuri’s stomach, and they gulped hard, swallowing down the feeling.

“Whatever, Katsudon,” they said. “I won’t let you retire. I’ll crush you at Worlds even harder than I just did at the Final, and then you’ll have to come back.” 

Yuuri grinned at them.

“You can try.” 

Viktor cleared his throat.

“The ramen is going to get cold, you two.”

Yuuri released Yuri’s wrist and picked up his chopsticks.

“You’re right,” he said, flushing a little as he glanced over at Viktor. “ _Itadakimasu_!” 

Yuri and Viktor repeated the phrase, then all three of them dug into their bowls.

“Mmmm,” Yuuri moaned as soon as he slurped his first mouthful of noodles, and Yuri had to stop a similar noise from escaping their own lips. Viktor wasn’t lying when he said he knew how to cook now. This was _delicious_.

Not that Yuri would fully admit it.

“Hey,” they said, “this is actually decent,” then quickly shoved another bite in their mouth, avoiding Viktor’s eyes.

“Yurachka,” Viktor cried in delight, “thank you! I’m so glad you like it!” Yuri sighed. What they’d said was hardly praise, but Viktor was acting like it was the greatest compliment he’d ever received. He reached across the table and gave Yuuri’s sleeve an excited tug. “Yuuri! Did you hear that? I got the angry kitten seal of approval!” 

Just as Yuri was opening their mouth to protest being called an angry kitten, Yuuri said, “Yurio’s right, Vitya… this is good. _Really_ good.” He sucked another clump of noodles into his mouth and smiled. “It tastes like home.” 

“Aww, Yuuri!” Viktor squealed, launching himself across the table to throw his arms around Yuuri’s shoulders. 

_Ugh,_ Yuri thought, shaking their head and keeping their gaze focused carefully on their ramen bowl. _God, those two are so fucking cheesy._

“So, Yurio,” Yuuri said after Viktor released him. “Is there anything you wanted to talk to us about? Any questions you had?” 

Yuri blinked. They’d been so distracted by Yuuri’s imminent retirement and the taste of the ramen that they’d almost forgotten the real reason they were here. 

And now, every question they’d ever wanted to ask another enby had flown straight out of their head. _Typical_. Yuri shoved more noodles and a bite of pork into their mouth as they desperately wracked their brain for anything to say.

“I-I don’t know,” they admitted, just as it hit them that they did. There was one obvious question they should have asked as soon as they’d walked through the door. “Um,” they said, face growing warm, “what are both of your pronouns?” 

Yuuri exchanged a quick glance with Viktor and smiled.

“Well, I’m transmasculine, so I use he/him,” Yuuri said. “I don’t feel fully like a man, but I still feel enough like one that more neutral pronouns aren’t a good fit for me. If that makes sense?” 

Yuri nodded, though they were suddenly bursting with more questions. But they tamped down the urge to ask, instead turning to Viktor.

“Oh,” Viktor said, looking strangely caught off-guard under Yuri’s gaze. “Ah… pronouns aren’t really that big a deal to me, to be honest? I just go with ‘he’ by default, since that’s what everyone else calls me… but I don’t mind being called something different, you know?” A tiny smile crossed his lips. “When I was a teenager, my rinkmates would call me ‘she’ sometimes.”

Yuri’s eyes widened. Given how many years they’d known Viktor, it felt strange to learn something so new.

“Some of them clearly thought it would bother me,” Viktor added, “but I liked it.” 

Yuri chewed a bite of pork, scrambling to gather their thoughts.

“You’re lucky,” they finally said. “I wish I could just… be okay with any pronouns like that.” They swallowed their pork alongside an unwelcome lump in their throat. “Maybe then competitions wouldn’t be hell.” 

“That must be rough,” Yuuri said, “having to skate while you’re constantly being misgendered. I don’t know how you do it.” 

“Well, the ritual you saw helps,” Yuri replied. “But only so much.” 

“What ritual?” Viktor asked, and Yuri explained the chanting routine that Yuuri had happened upon during the Final.

“...It helps me skate through the dysphoria,” they finished, “but it doesn’t get rid of it. I come home from every competition feeling kind of like I’ve been hit by a bus.” 

Viktor and Yuuri’s brows furrowed at that, and Yuri quickly forced an awkward laugh to chase the alarm from their faces. 

“That’s why I have to win,” they said. “Medals are my only consolation prize.” They shot a challenging glance at Yuuri. “Preferably gold ones.” 

“Don’t think that’ll make me go any easier on you at Worlds,” Yuuri said with a fierce gleam in his eye. “But seriously,” he added, voice softening, “if the dysphoria gets too bad while we’re at Worlds, you can always tell me. I may not be able to make it go away, but I can just… be there for you. If you think it would help.” 

“The same goes for Europeans,” Viktor added. “You don’t have to deal with that alone anymore, Yura.” 

Yuri concentrated very hard on the mouthful of noodles they were swallowing and not on the strange, warm sensation flooding their chest. 

“I didn’t know you were going to Europeans,” they said to Viktor. “It’s not like you’re still competing.”

“The Russian Skating Federation gave Yuuri and me tickets,” Viktor said. “But even if they hadn’t, I wouldn’t dream of not being there to cheer you on.” 

Yuri snorted.

“More like embarrass me, you mean.” 

“That too,” Viktor said, ruffling Yuri’s hair.

“Katsudon,” Yuri groaned, pushing Viktor’s hand away, “how do you put up with this idiot?” 

“Come on, Vitya,” Yuuri said, “behave.” 

“Whatever.” Viktor rolled his eyes. “H-they started it.” 

Yuri grinned.

“Good catch there,” they said teasingly.

“I’ll get it, I promise,” Viktor said, tone turning more serious. “If I can learn three languages, then surely I can learn one new set of pronouns.” 

Yuri gave Viktor an encouraging nudge with their elbow.

“Practice makes perfect.” 

“Who else knows your pronouns besides us, Yurio?” Yuuri asked. “Just so we don’t out you by mistake.” 

“Only Yakov and Lilia,” Yuri answered.

Yuuri’s brow crinkled with concern.

“That’s all?” he said. “You haven’t even told Otabek? Or your grandpa?” 

Yuri shook their head.

“I don’t know if either of them would understand,” they said. “Or how to explain it. Yakov and Lilia only know because I was questioning when I moved in with them, and they sort of… figured it out.” 

“And they’ve been supportive?” Yuuri asked.

“Yeah.” Yuri grinned as they remembered Yakov and Lilia’s awkward questions and fumbling efforts to switch pronouns a couple of years ago. “I don’t think they fully get it, but they’ve always tried.” 

Yuuri leaned forward, brows drawn together in thought.

“Do you think you might ever come out publicly?” he asked. “So that the announcers and reporters at competitions could use your pronouns? It might make things easier for you.” 

Yuri shivered. It was something they’d thought about — _dreamed_ about — too many times to count. Being introduced to the audience as “they” instead of “he.” Wearing whatever they wanted, both on and off the ice. Maybe even enjoying a banquet for once instead of spending the night pretending to be a man. 

The idea was as terrifying as it was enticing. 

“It might make things harder, too,” Yuri whispered. “What if I lost all my sponsors and fans? What if the ISU decided I was no longer eligible to compete?” They exhaled shakily through their nose. “I don’t know how the world would react to a nonbinary skater.” 

“It might not be as bad as you think,” Viktor said. “I mean, I’ve never come out with the details or anything… but the whole figure skating world has always known I’m queer, and it’s never been a problem.” 

“But if you’re worried about the nonbinary angle,” Yuuri added, “you can always ask Phichit.” 

Yuri nearly lost their grip on their chopsticks. 

_Phichit?!_ they thought. _What the fuck? How many other enbies have I been skating with this whole time?_

Yuuri chuckled a bit at what must have been the obvious shock on Yuri’s face.

“You didn’t know?” he said. “I thought you and Phichit followed each other on Instagram.” 

Yuri dug in their pocket for their phone to see what Yuuri was talking about. But before they could reach it, Yuuri was already sliding his own across the table, opened to Phichit’s profile. Yuri snatched it up.

Their eyes flicked over the bio, heart thudding hard at the words they saw. _Thai figure skater. Next event: 4CC. Level 23. Genderfluid and proud. Current pronouns: he/him_.

Yuri scrolled through the rest of Phichit’s page, scrutinizing it carefully. There were the usual photos you’d find on any skater’s Instagram — rinkside shots from competitions and ice shows, backstage candids with other skaters, travel pictures — but also lots of selfies showing off various outfits. Some looks were masculine like Yuri was used to, while others were so feminine that Phichit was almost unrecognizable. 

Yuri’s brow creased. They were pretty sure they’d been following Phichit for a few years… how had they missed this? 

They thumbed back up to the top of Phichit’s profile, then glanced at Yuuri.

“What does ‘current pronouns’ mean?” 

“Hmm?” Yuuri asked, taking his phone back. “Oh, that. Phichit uses he/him when he’s a man and she/her when she’s a woman… and updates Instagram whenever it changes.”

Yuri’s eyes widened.

“So then — Phichit is just… out?” they stuttered. “Just like that?” 

“Yes,” Yuuri said. 

“Since when?”

“Since always,” Yuuri answered, “on social media, at least. He hasn’t made a statement to the press or anything, and for the ISU’s purposes he still skates as a man since he’s in that division. But he’s never been in the closet, either. He’s had his gender and pronouns on Instagram since before we met.” 

Yuri balled their hands into fists to keep them from trembling. Could it really be that simple? Could they quietly update their profile too, and keep skating like nothing had changed? Or would the whole world notice? 

_Or what if no one noticed?_ a traitorous voice in Yuri’s head whispered. _Wouldn’t that be a thousand times worse?_

Out of nowhere, a wave of dizziness hit them full-force, leaving their head reeling. Suddenly everything was too intense, too much. They closed their eyes, gripping the tabletop as they fought against the churn.

A soft touch on their shoulder pulled them out of their swirling thoughts.

“Yura?” Viktor asked, eyes shimmering with concern. “What’s wrong?”

Yuri let out a rush of air.

“I-I don’t know,” they said. “Thinking about coming out…” They shuddered. “It’s a lot. I mean, even just being out to you two and talking about all this stuff is unreal.”

“I know what you mean,” Viktor said, his thumb gently rubbing at Yuri’s back. “I’ve never really talked about this before either, except with Yuuri. So tonight is kind of unreal for me, too.” 

“This is a new thing for all of us,” Yuuri added, voice reassuring. “It’s only natural that you’d feel overwhelmed.” His hand came up to join Viktor’s, lightly squeezing Yuri’s shoulder. “We don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.” 

With his free hand, Viktor reached for the now-empty ramen bowls, clearing them aside.

“How about we move to the couch?” he suggested. “Maybe talk about something else for a while, or just relax and watch a movie?”

Yuri glanced back and forth between the two of them, uncertain. That didn’t sound like a bad idea — or at least it wouldn’t have at any other time. But tonight was different. Overwhelmed didn’t even begin to scratch the surface — Yuri was _drowning_. They stood up from the table abruptly.

“I should go home.” 

In an instant, Yuuri and Viktor were out of their seats too, hovering at Yuri’s sides.

“Did we do something wrong?” Yuuri asked, eyes brimming with hurt. His voice sounded so small.

Yuri flinched.

“Don’t be an idiot,” they said, “of course not. I just want to get a good night’s sleep before practice tomorrow, that’s all.” 

It was a pathetic excuse and they knew it. They’d never been that responsible with their sleep schedule before, and besides, it was barely eight-thirty. But they needed to get out of there. To be alone where they could have some space to process the thoughts that were threatening to suffocate them.

“Thanks for dinner,” they added stiffly, hoping it would be enough to chase the confusion from Viktor and Yuuri’s faces.

They didn’t get the chance to find out, because before they knew it, they were in Viktor’s arms for the second time that night. Yuuri latched onto them from behind, hooking his chin over Yuri’s shoulder. 

“Thank you for coming,” Viktor murmured into Yuri’s hair.

“Yes,” Yuuri added, breath tickling the side of Yuri’s neck, “you’re welcome here anytime.” 

Yuri shifted a little, trying to get comfortable. Yuuri and Viktor weren’t holding on too tightly, but they weren’t showing any signs of letting go, either. The two of them were clearly trying to be comforting, to make up for whatever they thought they’d done. Neither of them had a clue that they were only smothering Yuri even more. 

At last, Viktor pulled back to meet Yuri’s gaze.

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, slowly letting his hands drop from Yuri’s waist.

“Have a good night,” Yuuri said as he and Viktor escorted Yuri to the door. His eyes still looked lost and forlorn.

Yuri gave a jerky nod, barely trusting their voice enough to respond.

“You too,” they managed over their shoulder as they shuffled out.

They closed the door and leaned against it for a moment, sucking in deep breaths and fighting to calm down the tremors coursing through their body.

_What the hell just happened?_

* * *

Yuri woke with a groan, a sharp burst of pain shooting between their brows. 

They groped around the covers for their phone, cracking open one eye to glimpse at the time. _Shit._ Forty-five minutes until their alarm was set to go off — there was no way they would get back to sleep now. And last night’s headache was still hanging around. _Just great._  
  
After Yuri had left Viktor and Yuuri’s apartment last night, one single thought slapped them in the face as hard as the freezing cold air: _I fucked up._ All they’d wanted for years was the chance to talk to another enby, and when they’d finally had it? They’d blanked out on everything they’d planned to say, and the mere thought of coming out had sent them into a full-blown panic. They’d completely fallen apart.

Yuri had stomped at the ground the whole way home, mentally kicking themself with every step. By the time they got to their bedroom, their head was throbbing and their eyes were stinging with unshed tears. Thank God Yakov and Lilia were still out at dinner and not around to hear the muffled screams Yuri unleashed into their pillow. When Yuri finally collapsed into sleep, they’d felt hollowed out, drained of every bit of their energy. 

But now, despite the lingering ache behind their eyes, they felt strangely calm. Weightless, even. Something about getting to be their true self last night had taken all the pressure off their shoulders — no matter how badly they’d blown it.

Yuri had no idea what to say to Viktor and Yuuri when they got to practice. Things were pretty much guaranteed to be awkward. It didn’t help that Yuri was absolute shit at having feelings in general, much less talking about them. But they had to figure _something_ out. As weird and new and overwhelming as it was, Yuuri and Viktor understood them in a way that no one else ever had. And that wasn’t something Yuri was willing to give up.

Choking down a painkiller with their protein shake, Yuri slipped out of the house to get an early start at the rink. Maybe some time alone on the ice would help them think of a way to ask for a second chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now we finally have Viktor in the mix! I'm looking forward to developing the relationship among the trio throughout the rest of the story. 
> 
> I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! Please comment & let me know what you thought.
> 
> Many thanks again to my awesome beta [Darth_Claire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darth_Claire).
> 
> I'll be back in a week with chapter 3! Feel free to check out my [other YOI fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTrashiverse/works?fandom_id=11444638) and my [fandom Twitter](https://twitter.com/TheTrashiverse) (18+/NSFW) in the meantime.
> 
> Thanks a bunch for reading! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's up! I'm back with chapter 3 (a.k.a. the chapter of childhood flashbacks). I'm glad I could get this out the door before we get new canon from Ice Adolescence that potentially contradicts it LOL.
> 
> Chapter-specific warnings include: characters realizing they're trans/nonbinary (a.k.a. their "eggs cracking"), gender dysphoria, misgendering, policing of gender expression, transphobic attitudes/rules for athletes, gender questioning, gender-based regression/self-hate
> 
> And with that, let's dive on in!

* * *

**_December 2018, Saint Petersburg_ **   
  


“All done!” Yuuri called across the kitchen. 

“Great,” Viktor replied, “I’ll get the sake!” 

“Thanks,” Yuuri said. “Yurio, could you set out some cups and chopsticks?” 

Yuri reached into the cabinet as Yuuri brushed past them on his way to the table with three steaming bowls balanced in his arms.

After that first dinner with Yuuri and Viktor, Yuri had walked into practice the next day with their heart pounding in trepidation, certain that things would be awkward and strained. But their fears turned out to be unfounded. As soon as Viktor and Yuuri had arrived, they’d pulled Yuri aside.

“Yura, are you okay?” Viktor had murmured earnestly under his breath, wrapping an arm around Yuri’s shoulders. “You left so quickly last night… we were worried about you.” 

Yuuri had looked up plaintively from the bench next to them, where he was lacing up his skates.

“We didn’t mean to run you off,” he said, squeezing Yuri’s hand, “and we hope you’ll come back.”

Yuri gave a dismissive huff to hide the relief crashing through them.

“Idiots,” they said, “of course I’m coming back.”

Before they knew it, they’d found themself sandwiched between Yuuri and Viktor in an embrace much like the one the night before — except this time they were facing Yuuri, and Viktor was the one holding them from behind. 

“I’m so glad,” Yuuri smiled into Yuri’s shoulder. “There’s still a lot we didn’t get to talk about… I feel like we barely scratched the surface.” 

“Yuuri’s right,” Viktor said. “Maybe we should make dinner a weekly thing?”

“Okay,” Yuri agreed. “I’ll be sure to come up with more interesting questions than ‘what are your pronouns’ next time.” They felt the vibration of Viktor and Yuuri’s laughter rumble through their chest.

There hadn’t been time for another dinner before Yuri had to go to Saransk for Nationals, and Yuuri had to fly back to Japan for his own. But now they were both celebrating their respective wins with well-earned bowls of katsudon. Yuri had even come over early to help prepare it.

“To the National Champions of Russia and Japan,” Viktor said, pouring a round of sake. “ _Kanpai_!”

Yuri drained their cup in one gulp, steeling themself with liquid courage. Over the past few weeks, two things had stayed at the forefront of their mind: winning Nationals, and stuff they wanted to ask Viktor and Yuuri. Now that the first of those was out of the way, there was nothing keeping Yuri from diving into the second. They hadn’t found a good opening when they’d first arrived, and it had been all too easy to distract themself with cooking. But now they needed to start the conversation before they lost their nerve.

“So,” Yuri blurted, “how did you two figure out that you’re nonbinary?” 

Two startled pairs of eyes blinked at them. Then Viktor burst into giggles.

“There’s no beating around the bush with you, is there, kitten?” he teased.

“Shut up,” Yuri grumbled, face tingling with heat.

Yuuri shook his head at both of their antics.

“Vitya,” he asked, “do you want to go first, or should I?”

“Oh,” Viktor said, pushing a hand through his bangs, “well… I’m still figuring a lot of that out, so — definitely you.” 

Yuri shoved a large bite of pork cutlet in their mouth to keep themself from asking what exactly Viktor meant by _that_ , instead turning their attention to Yuuri.

“Okay,” Yuuri said. “When I figured out for sure that I was nonbinary, I was a little older than you are now, Yuri. But it really started a long time before that…” 

_Six-year-old Yuuri Katsuki tugged at the hem of his costume, desperate to make it feel comfortable. The shiny material was smooth against his skin. The rhinestones across his torso sparkled in his favorite shade of blue. But even so, nothing about it was right. He kept his gaze focused on the laces of his skates, trying his best to ignore the way the skirt flared out over his thighs._

_This was a costume for a girl, and he wasn’t one — he wasn’t._

_It didn’t matter what anyone said. What uniform he had to wear at school, what locker room he had to use at the rink. He was a boy and he knew it._

_His friends and family knew it, too, so he couldn’t be making it up. Yuuko and the other kids at practice all called him Yuuri after he’d asked them to — even Takeshi, and he was a total jerk. Mari had started calling him her little brother, and it made their parents laugh and say it was cute. Even though they still called him their daughter sometimes, they kept his hair cut short the way he liked it and bought him all the boys’ clothes he wanted. So he knew they could see the truth._

_Everyone who mattered could see it — except his coach._

_It didn’t usually bother Yuuri too much. But today, everything was different. He was about to skate in his first novice competition — something he’d been looking forward to since he’d started skating lessons — and everything was all wrong. He was wearing the wrong costume, competing in the wrong division, being introduced with the wrong name, and he didn’t know what to do._

_“Come on,” his coach said, one hand at his back pushing him toward the entrance, “it’s your turn.”_

_Yuuri froze._

_The lights in the Ice Castle suddenly seemed too bright, the roar of the audience too loud. If he skated out onto the ice, they would all see him looking like this, like the girl that he wasn’t. It already felt like hundreds of eyes were on him, even though he was just standing at the boards. Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could make it all disappear._

_“What are you waiting for?” his coach said, shaking his shoulder. “Get out there!” And Yuuri found himself moving on instinct. He whipped around, blindly grabbing at the bench for his skate guards and throwing them on as fast as he could. Then he bolted for the locker room door._

_He didn’t stop running until he was all the way outside, where he collapsed on the front steps of the Ice Castle, tears burning his eyes. He couldn’t see. Couldn’t breathe. His body shook as sob after sob ripped through him._

_He’d ruined everything, he knew it — thrown away his first chance to compete. What if it was his only chance? What if his coach refused to keep working with him? What if he wasn’t ever allowed to skate again? But what else was he supposed to do? He couldn’t go out there and compete as a girl, he just couldn’t._

_It was Mari who found him, wrapping her arms around him and repeating, “It’s okay, little brother,” in a soothing whisper as he bawled into her shoulder. It was his parents who got him the help he needed, in the form of a kind old counselor who finally gave him a word for who he was: transgender. It was Yuuko who stuck by his side when his other rinkmates couldn’t wrap their heads around the fact that he wasn’t just pretending to be a boy._

_Before he knew it, Yuuri was enrolled in a new school where he got to wear the right uniform and be called the right name from the start. He was seeing a doctor who could help him make sure he grew into the man he was supposed to be, no matter how much his body would try to make him grow into a woman. Best of all, he was skating under a new coach and competing in the boys’ division. He would never have to take the ice as a girl again._

“...That first competition was the breaking point,” Yuuri finished. “Things got a lot better from then on.”

Yuri swirled their chopsticks through the rice in their bowl.

“So… you were able to keep skating while you transitioned?” they asked. 

“Yes,” Yuuri said. “There was a lot of red tape to get through when it came to competing. But my new coach was good friends with someone in the Japanese Skating Federation, and they worked together to help me with all the paperwork I needed to skate as a boy. The ISU had its own rules at the time, about surgeries that I didn’t really want. So my coach convinced the Federation to keep the whole trans thing a secret.” 

His face grew clouded. 

“Moving up to juniors was a challenge,” he continued. “My coach wanted me to reach a certain point of puberty first, so that no one would question if I belonged with the other boys. But my doctor didn’t want to put me on hormones too young. So by the time I started my first season as a junior, I was almost eighteen.” He shook his head. “I felt so far behind.”

“So that’s why you made your junior debut so late,” Yuri said. “I always wondered.” 

Yuuri cracked a huge grin at that.

“Oh,” he said, “looks like someone’s been following my career!” 

Heat rushed up Yuri’s cheeks.

“Whatever,” they said, “I follow anyone who I think will be a threat to my own.” 

“Tell that to the picture of Yuuri you ripped out of a magazine and tacked on your wall when you were a kid,” Viktor snorted.

“To remind myself of who I needed to beat!” Yuri growled, shoving their elbow into Viktor’s arm. “Asshole,” they added under their breath.

“Sounds to me like you were a _fan_ ,” Yuuri teased.

“I was not!” 

“Don’t listen to them, Yuuri,” Viktor said in an undertone, a wicked gleam in his eye. “They were _such_ a fan. They thought it was so cool that there was another skater with the same name.” 

Yuuri’s expression suddenly grew serious.

“I meant to ask you when you were here for dinner before,” he said, turning toward Yuri. “Does it bother you that my chosen name is the same as your birth name?” 

Yuri stared at him, unsure of what to say. That thought had never crossed their mind. Just like a few weeks ago, when Yuuri had helped them come out to Viktor, once again Yuri found themself blindsided by Yuuri’s consideration.

To break the weird bubble of tension rising inside them, Yuri smirked and said, “How do you know Yuri isn’t my chosen name too?” 

Yuuri laughed, anxious expression melting away at Yuri’s tone.

“Touché,” he said. 

“It is my birth name,” Yuri explained, “but I’m not changing it. It fits me.”

“Okay,” Yuuri said with a relieved nod. “I was worried about that.” 

Yuri rolled their eyes and poked Yuuri’s arm with one finger.

“You worry too much, Katsudon.” 

“Anyway,” Yuuri continued with a sheepish smile. “I guess I don’t have to tell you when I moved up to seniors, since you know so much about my career…” 

“Stop,” Yuri groaned, slapping a hand over their face. “And you were nineteen, right? I remember you didn’t stay in juniors for long.” 

“That’s right,” Yuuri said. “I was in Detroit, in my first year of both seniors and college. And that was when I started to realize that my gender was a little more complicated than I’d always thought.” 

Yuri cocked their head curiously.

“America was so different from Japan,” Yuuri explained. “Back at home, I never met another trans person. I guess I knew I couldn’t be the only one, but people didn’t really talk about it or come out. So when I was growing up and learning how to be a man, I only had the cis boys around me to compare myself to. And I already knew I was different from them in a pretty big way.” He took a thoughtful sip of his sake. “But when I was in college, I started hanging out at the LGBT center on campus. And the more time I spent around other trans guys, the more I could tell that I wasn’t like them, either. I couldn’t put my finger on how… until my second year, when I met Phichit.” 

Smiling fondly at the memory, Yuuri pulled his phone out of his pocket and took a quick look at something on the screen — probably Phichit’s pronouns, Yuri realized.

“Celestino had just taken him on as a student, and he was starting his freshman year,” Yuuri said. “He was still seventeen, younger than most people in his class, and he’d never been outside of Thailand before. So Celestino suggested that we room together. And one of the first things he said when he moved in was, ‘Is it cool with you that I’m a girl sometimes?’ That’s when things started to click.”

Yuri let out a rush of air through their nose. They had a whole new level of respect for Phichit. They couldn’t imagine coming out so casually like that to a complete stranger.

“Phichit was the first person I could really talk to about gender,” Yuuri said. “I learned more about myself in the first three months we lived together than I did in more than a decade of gender therapy. No one had ever told me there were more options than boy and girl. But once I knew, I found that ‘transmasculine enby’ described me better than ‘trans man’ ever did.” 

He dropped his gaze for a second, fingers drumming nervously on the table, before locking eyes with Yuri.

“Um… does all of that answer your question?”

“Yeah,” Yuri replied, shifting uncomfortably in their seat. Their chest stirred with the strange urge to reach over and pull Yuuri into a hug. _What the hell._

Thankfully, Viktor was there to distract them.

“Oh, goodness,” he said through a strange, breathy laugh. “It’s my turn now, isn’t it?”

“Sorry,” Yuuri told him, a hint of red tinting his cheeks. “I got kind of long-winded.” 

“No, no, that’s good!” Viktor said. “It gave me time to think.” He tilted his head in Yuri’s direction. “Let’s see, where on earth should I begin?”

As Viktor placed a finger to his lips in thought, Yuri couldn’t help but notice that something about him seemed off. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, and his tone sounded overly bright. The confidence he always exuded suddenly felt like a paper-thin veneer.

Yuri started to get the awful suspicion that Viktor had never told his story before — not even to his own fiancé. _Maybe I should tell him he doesn’t have to,_ they thought. 

But Yuuri got there first, laying a hand across Viktor’s and stroking it with his thumb.

“Wherever you want,” he said, voice gentle and encouraging.

Viktor nodded slowly.

“Okay,” he said. “Well… I don’t remember when it all started like Yuuri does. All I can tell you is when it stopped…” 

_Nineteen-year-old Viktor Nikiforov slid into the final pose of his free skate with a flourish, the ends of his ponytail swishing as they fell across his back. The muscles in his legs burned like fire, trembling with the effort of holding himself up after such an intense routine, but he didn’t let a bit of it show on his face, keeping his expression serene and beautiful as the last notes of the music faded. Even though it was just practice, he knew his performance had been stunning._

_It had to be, because Maxim Dubinsky from the Russian Skating Federation was visiting the rink today._

_Viktor’s eyes spotted him at the boards next to Yakov, right where the judges would usually be. He rose and skated to center ice, taking his full bows as if he were at a competition. Even from far away, he could tell Yakov was rolling his eyes._

_“Vitya!” Yakov barked across the ice. “Stop messing around and get over here!”_

_Viktor put on his brightest smile._

_“Hi, Mr. Dubinsky!” he said, reaching out for an enthusiastic handshake and flipping his ponytail over one shoulder the way the press always loved. “Welcome to Yubileyny.”_

_Dubinsky fixed Viktor with a steely stare._

_“Coach Feltsman tells me your free program has the highest base value in the men’s division.”_

_“Oh,” Viktor blinked, “yes, it does.” Something in his chest caved a little with disappointment. Had Dubinsky even been paying attention to the choreography? To the way every last detail of the routine conveyed the sense of longing in the music? It seemed like all the Federation or the ISU cared about these days was racking up points with jumps. Well, if that’s what they wanted…_

_“I’m training the quad flip,” Viktor added, “so my scores will be even higher next season!”_

_Dubinsky crossed his arms._

_“The quad flip is an impossible jump,” he scoffed. “You’re wasting your time.”_

_“No, no, not at all!” Viktor insisted, forcing his voice to stay sweet over the frustration building inside him. “I’ll be the first to land it in competition and break new ground for Russia.” That seemed like the kind of thing Dubinsky would eat up, Viktor thought bitterly._

_“Why don’t we head back to my office?” Yakov broke in, steering Dubinsky away from the boards with a hand at his elbow. “Vitya, go stretch and hit the showers.”_

_“I will,” Viktor called after him, “just as soon as I refine my step sequence a little more.”_

_He grinned at Yakov’s retreating back, knowing his coach couldn’t complain about him overworking himself with Dubinsky there._

_An hour later, after Viktor had finally taken his shower, he stood at the locker room mirror, brushing black mascara onto his pale lashes. He blinked a few times, admiring the way the makeup made his eyes pop. Satisfied, he screwed the mascara wand back inside its tube and reached into his bag for the blush._

_A snort echoed from behind him._

_“Got a date tonight?” one of his older rinkmates, Alexei, asked in a teasing voice._

_Viktor winked at him over his shoulder._

_“You wish,” he smirked, turning back to the mirror. “But tonight is just business.”_

_After the way his brief meeting with Dubinsky had gone, Viktor was convinced that he needed to make a second impression — one that was a lot better than the first. Dubinsky’s cool reaction to Viktor’s program made it clear that he hadn’t won him over with his skating. But he could do it with his charm, he just knew it. If he had a chance to go out to dinner with Dubinsky and Yakov, to talk about his goals and plans for advancing Russia’s figure skating legacy, he knew he would have Dubinsky eating out of the palm of his hand. And then he’d have the entire Federation on his side._

_Alexei interrupted Viktor’s thoughts with a playful smack against his ass._

_“Well,” he said as Viktor squealed in surprise, “good luck, princess.”_

_“Thank you!” Viktor called after him, a little thrill shooting through his chest. His rinkmates had taken to calling him “princess” since his senior debut, and even though that was more than three years ago, hearing the nickname had never stopped exciting him. He grinned at his reflection as he brushed a coat of gloss over his lips._

_Satisfied that he now looked as regal as he felt, he swung his bag over his shoulder and sashayed down the hall toward Yakov’s office._

_His hand froze mid-knock at the sound of Dubinsky’s raised voice bleeding through the door._

_“...no doubts about his ability. But we have concerns about his image.”_

_“I agree,” Yakov said, “the image of him standing below Cao Bin at the Grand Prix Final isn’t something we want to see again. But trust me, he’ll be on top of the podium at Europeans and Worlds.”_

_Viktor winced at the reminder of the gold medal he’d just barely lost. It was only last week, and the wound was still fresh._

_“Don’t play stupid with me, Feltsman,” Dubinsky growled. “You know what I mean.”_

_“Enlighten me,” Yakov shot back._

_The thud of Dubinsky’s fists against Yakov’s desk rang out._

_“If he wants to keep competing in the men’s division, he has to be a man!”_

_Viktor’s heart stopped._

_“The hair, the makeup, the girly costumes… it was cute when he was still fifteen,” Dubinsky raged. “But now that he’s almost twenty, it’s getting ridiculous. When is it going to stop?”_

_The words crashed around Viktor in waves. He slumped against the wall, arms clenched tight across his waist as he pressed his forehead to his knees. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to gulp down deep breaths._

_“He may be a record-breaking skater,” Dubinsky continued, “but if he wants us to send him to the Olympics again, he’s got to think about how he’s representing this country. What kind of message are we sending if our top male figure skater looks like a princess?”_

_Something inside Viktor crumbled. The same word that had made his skin tingle with elation only moments before now left a cold pit deep in his stomach. Before he could hear anything else, he was on his feet, numb legs carrying him back to the locker room as fast as they could._

_Viktor barely remembered the moments that followed. He was only vaguely aware of retching his guts up in a locker room toilet, racing home with the brutal December wind blasting his ears, and burying his nose in Makkachin’s warm curls. All he could think about was the echo of Dubinsky’s words that wouldn’t stop circling around and around in his head._

_Be a man. Be a man. Be a man…_

“...I didn’t know what that meant,” Viktor admitted. “I-I’d never thought about being a man before.” 

He broke off, swallowing hard. One hand absently twirled his chopsticks around his bowl while the other tightly gripped Yuuri’s. Yuri could tell he was still lost in the memory of his teenage self, having to face the rest of the season with such a burden on his shoulders. 

The same season that — 

“You cut your hair,” Yuri blurted out before they could think. “That year at Worlds.” Viktor’s gaze shot up to theirs in an instant, making them flinch. Yuri bit their lip and forced out, “Was that why you did it?” 

Viktor blinked.

“You do remember.”

“How could I forget?” Yuri said. “You shocked us all.” 

“I did, didn’t I?” Viktor mused. “Even Yakov had no idea. I thought he was going to have an aneurysm when I came in for warm-ups with it all gone.” 

“So… he didn’t tell you to cut it, after what that guy from the Federation said?” Yuri asked.

“No,” Viktor replied softly. “He didn’t know I overheard his conversation with Dubinsky, and he never said a word about it.” 

Something unclenched inside Yuri’s chest at that. They’d always assumed that, as Viktor’s coach, Yakov was behind his transformation from a free-spirited androgynous teen into an increasingly somber, masculine adult. It had made them wary of coming out to Yakov at first, afraid they’d be resigned to the same fate. But Yakov had been nothing but supportive of Yuri, and it felt _right_ , somehow, learning that he had always been just as supportive of Viktor.

“So then,” Yuri said, “you did it to prove that you could be what the Federation wanted?”

“Well,” Viktor said, “yes and no. I wouldn’t have done it if Dubinsky hadn’t said those things, that’s true. But it was… a bit more complicated.” 

He glanced back and forth between Yuri and Yuuri.

“I didn’t question my gender like either of you did,” he said. “The way I dressed when I was growing up, the long hair, all of it… I was just doing what felt like me. It never once crossed my mind that it had anything to do with gender at all. Until I heard those words, ‘be a man,’ and it hit me — I didn’t think of myself that way. So…” His voice shrank down to something tremulous and small. “You know… where did that leave me?”

“Oh, Vitenka,” Yuuri murmured, softly pressing his lips to the back of Viktor’s hand.

Viktor kept his eyes downcast when he spoke again.

“I thought if I didn’t know how to be a man, then that must mean I wasn’t one. But I didn’t know what I _was_ , and that scared the hell out of me. It was all I could think about for the next few months, because — I had to figure it out, right?” He let out a pained scoff. “But the more I tried, the more I got confused. And then it all got to be too much. I cut my hair because I just wanted to make it stop.” 

Yuri bit the inside of their lip as the memory of that fateful World Championships slipped into their mind unbidden. They’d been a feisty seven-year-old then, already a formidable skater with a thirst for future gold, and Viktor had still been their unshakeable hero. They’d watched the competition with bated breath, waiting for the moment when Viktor would grace the screen. When he took the ice for his warm-ups, his gorgeous silver ponytail gone, Yuri burst into tears. Their grandpa had tried his best to console them, assuring them that it was just hair, but Yuri knew better. Some vital part of Viktor was missing. 

Now, Yuri’s chest ached with the knowledge of how right they’d been.

“From then on,” Viktor said, “I didn’t let myself experiment with makeup or wear pretty things anymore. Even if I didn’t know what I was, I knew what I was supposed to be, and that was a man. So I got a man’s haircut and bought men’s clothes and thought that would — would fix me.” He huffed through his nose. “You can see how well that worked.” 

“I remember you were… different after you cut your hair,” Yuri said warily. “Like you weren’t happy anymore. I just didn’t know why.”

At that point, Yuri had just started training with Yakov one-on-one, which frequently put them at the rink with Viktor and gave them a front-row seat to the terrible change he was going through. All the times Yuri had been around Viktor before, at Yakov’s training camp and local competitions and ice shows, he’d radiated energy and joy, bursting at the seams with an infectious sort of passion for life. But with his new short hair and more masculine wardrobe, he’d lost his spark. Yuri had watched helplessly as Viktor slowly ceased to be himself. On the surface, he was still as bright and bubbly and charming as ever, but none of it was genuine. It was all a persona, a ploy to fool the public while he grew more and more disillusioned behind his media-ready smile.

Viktor let out a hum at Yuri’s words.

“I wasn’t happy,” he agreed. “Trying to be a man was like shoving a square peg in a round hole. Not that I would admit it to myself,” he said through a brittle laugh. “That would mean I’d have to think about it.” 

“So you just — didn’t?” Yuri asked, dumbfounded. Their gender had been at the forefront of their mind since puberty. It was impossible to imagine ignoring it like that.

“No,” Viktor answered. “Not until I started coaching Yuuri.” 

He finally looked back up then, eyes twinkling as they met Yuuri’s in a fond gaze. 

“When we were at the Cup of China during our first season together, Yuuri came out to me,” Viktor said. “I had never heard of nonbinary before, so he had to explain it. And then… then everything about my own gender suddenly made a lot more sense.” 

He turned to face Yuri.

“After that, I couldn’t avoid thinking about it anymore. But I’d pushed it aside for so many years… having to face it wasn’t easy. I’ve started exploring it a little, enough to have a better understanding of who I am, but…” He shifted in his seat, tugging at his bangs with his free hand. “It’s something I’m still struggling with, to tell you the truth.” 

Yuri’s mouth fell open. The room seemed to spin around them as everything they thought they’d known about Viktor turned on its axis. They’d always sensed that he was different, and saw right through him when he’d started repressing his true nature. But they’d never suspected that for all those years, he’d been hiding in the closet from _himself_. It was mind-blowing to think that Viktor was newer to all of this than Yuri was, despite being so much older. That someone as confident as Viktor could still be finding his way. 

Viktor’s brows knotted together in confusion, and Yuri snapped their mouth shut, face burning as they realized they’d been caught literally gaping. 

“Sorry,” Yuri said, “I just… can’t believe it took you so long.” They cringed the second the words left their lips. That hadn’t come out right at all.

Thankfully, Viktor didn’t seem upset by their response, just curious.

“What makes you say that?”

Yuri hesitated. The truth was that Viktor, in his teen years, had been their unknowing nonbinary icon. They doubted they would have started questioning their own gender at such a young age if they hadn’t grown up with him around. _But_ , they thought, cheeks growing warmer, _I can’t just say that, can I?_

The rare, raw openness in Viktor’s expression said otherwise. He’d shared a part of his past and bared a piece of his soul that he was clearly accustomed to keeping locked away — just because Yuri had asked. After that, they owed it to him to be honest. 

“I…” Yuri fumbled for words, not quite sure where to start. “Do you remember how we met?”

_Five-year-old Yuri Plisetsky leaned forward in their rinkside seat, eyes glued to the ice and body vibrating like a live wire. Mrs. Karpova gave their bouncing leg a disapproving look, but they ignored her. It was almost time for the final warm-up group, and that meant Yuri would finally get to watch Viktor Nikiforov skate, right there in front of them. Nothing else mattered._

_From the moment Yuri had first laid eyes on Viktor, they’d known he was special. Not just because he was the most beautiful skater they’d ever seen, but because he seemed different from the other boys, just like Yuri was. Yuri had barely breathed as Viktor glided and jumped across the screen, utterly captivated. The second it was over, they’d tugged on their grandpa’s sleeve, begging him to sign them up for proper skating lessons next time he took them to the rink._

_Now, Yuri was working their first major competition as a sweeper, and Viktor was vying for the title of National Champion and his first chance at the Olympics._

_A murmur of anticipation rippled through the crowd when Viktor skated to center ice to begin his routine, ramping Yuri’s own excitement up a notch. And from the moment the first notes of the music began, Viktor delivered. Yuri was already familiar with the program, of course, having watched Viktor perform it three times on TV during the Grand Prix series, but seeing it in person was like watching it for the first time all over again. As their wide, unblinking eyes traced Viktor’s path through each step, spin, and jump, they had to remind themself how to breathe. There in the rink, Viktor’s energy was a tangible thing, crackling through the frigid air with every sweep of his blades. Yuri’s heart lurched up into their throat when Viktor sped right by the boards in front of them, the silvery strands of his ponytail almost close enough to touch._

_All too soon, it was over, Viktor gliding into his final position to the most deafening roar yet from the crowd._

_Before Mrs. Karpova could call the sweepers forward, Yuri was already out of their seat and waiting at the boards. They teetered on the balls of their feet while the other sweepers clustered behind them, eyes still glued to Viktor as he took his bows amid a shower of gifts tossed from the stands. The second Mrs. Karpova opened the gate, Yuri took off like a shot._

_Their hands felt shaky and hard to control as they grasped a plastic-wrapped cluster of roses in their path. Clutching the bouquet to their fluttering chest, they skated a few feet closer to center ice. As they bent to pick up a small stuffed bear, a movement out of the corner of their eye stopped them in their tracks._

_Viktor was gliding toward them._

_His face radiated pure joy as he beamed at the audience, hands raised above his head in a wave. Every line of his body exuded poise and grace. Yuri had never seen anyone look more beautiful than Viktor did in that moment. Without thinking, Yuri found themself skating in Viktor’s direction, drawn in like a magnet._

_They stopped right in front of him, breath catching as they met his startled blue gaze. He was even more stunning up close. Not knowing what to say, Yuri thrust the flowers they were still holding into Viktor’s hands._

_“Oh!” Viktor squealed, eyes crinkling at the corners as his lips broke out in a delighted smile. “Thank you!” He sank down to one knee so that he was eye-level with Yuri and pulled them into a hug. Yuri’s heart pounded so hard that they barely heard the “Aww,” that rippled through the crowd. They curled their trembling arms around Viktor’s neck, hands brushing against the silky strands of his hair._

_Everything that followed that moment was a blur — Viktor pulling away with a gentle pat to Yuri’s back, the audience cheering one more time as Viktor exited the ice, Mrs. Karpova frantically waving Yuri back over to the boards. They absently picked up a plush toy or two as they skated over to the sweepers’ exit._

_“Yuri, what were you thinking?” Mrs. Karpova hissed through gritted teeth, giving their shoulder a hard shake. “You know you’re not supposed to approach the skaters!”_

_Her scolding barely reached Yuri’s ears. Who cared if they’d broken the rules? They had just met Viktor Nikiforov!_

_Of course, they didn’t meet him properly until six months later, at Yakov Feltsman’s training camp._

_When a poster had gone up at Yuri’s home rink in Moscow advertising a summer training program for novice skaters with none other than Viktor’s coach, Yuri pleaded with their instructors to help them apply for a spot. It hadn’t taken long for Yuri’s acceptance letter to arrive, and by the time June rolled around, they were on a train from Moscow to Saint Petersburg._

_Yuri was sitting on the sidelines one afternoon when the novice training session was over, carefully unlacing and packing away their skates, when a larger figure dropped to the bench._

_“Hey,” a familiar voice said, “I know you!”_

_Yuri nearly jumped out of their skin._

_Viktor Nikiforov was sitting right next to them, pulling his own skates out of his bag. He looked more casual today than he had at Nationals, with his practice clothes on and his face free of glitter, but no less magnificent. He flashed a smile when his eyes met Yuri’s._

_“You’re the one who gave me those flowers at Nationals, right?” Viktor continued. “That was so sweet! I’ve never had a sweeper bring me anything before.”_

_Heat prickled up Yuri’s face at the memory._

_“I got in trouble for that,” they admitted._

_Viktor snickered._

_“I’m always getting in trouble, too,” he said with a wink. “It drives Yakov crazy.” He reached down to start lacing up a skate. “Are you one of his new students?”_

_“I’m here for his training camp,” Yuri answered. “But I want him to coach me one day.”_

_“Well, if you stand out and impress him now, he might take you on in a few years,” Viktor said. “That’s how I started — ”_

_“Hey, princess!” a shout echoed across the rink, cutting him off. Yuri bristled a little. They hated it just as much when the other kids made fun of them for being girly as they did when their teachers tried to make them act like a proper boy. But then they caught sight of Viktor’s smile as he waved to a skater who was now speeding past, and realized that not only was the insult not meant for them, but that Viktor didn’t seem to take it as one._

_“What is it?” Viktor called back._

_“Get on the ice already,” the other skater said, “before Yakov sees you goofing off.”_

_“Be right there!” Viktor replied. He turned back to Yuri as he bent to tie his other skate. “What’s your name?” he asked._

_“Yuri.”_

_“It was nice to meet you, Yuri,” Viktor said, clasping Yuri’s hand between both of his own. “I’m Viktor.”_

_“Come on,” Yuri couldn’t help but snort, “I know who you are.”_

_Both of them dissolved into giggles._

_“Well,” Viktor finally said, “I’d better start warming up before Yakov has my head.” He rose from the bench and tugged off his skate guards. “I’ll see you around, Yuri!”_

_Instead of going back to the campers’ dorms, Yuri stayed on the bench, silently soaking in every minute of Viktor’s session. Viktor had told Yuri to stand out, and it was clear he practiced what he preached. While his rinkmates followed Yakov’s commands without question, Viktor pushed back, asking for clarifications and making suggestions of his own. The way he moved on the ice was utterly unique, aggressive and delicate and majestic in equal measures. He didn’t have an ounce of self-consciousness, even though he was completely self-aware. He was unashamed of being true to himself, no matter how different he was from everyone else, in a way that Yuri had never seen._

_They wanted to be like that too…_

“...So it’s strange to think that you didn’t figure out the whole nonbinary thing until — what, three years ago?” Yuri finished. “Because I got that vibe from you way back then, before I even knew the word for it.” 

Viktor’s hand closed around their arm, squeezing softly.

“Oh, Yurachka,” he said, voice full of wonder. “You were so perceptive.” 

Yuri’s face grew uncomfortably warm.

“Or I was just projecting,” they shrugged.

“Does it really count as projecting when you were right?” Viktor released Yuri’s arm with a wry smile. “You know, looking back at my teen years, it really does seem obvious. But I didn’t live in America and meet others like me the way Yuuri did. And the internet I grew up with was nothing like what I’m sure you had. So I doubt I would have figured things out back then… even without the Federation breathing down my neck.” 

“I can’t believe the Federation hasn’t said anything to me yet,” Yuri muttered, unconsciously twirling a lock of hair around their finger.

“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Viktor reassured them. “The Federation gets a little more open-minded every time the ISU ditches more of their outdated regulations.” 

“The ISU’s regulations are still pretty outdated if you ask me,” Yuri huffed. 

“What do you mean?” Viktor asked.

Yuri bit their lip, trying to think of a way to explain how restrictive every event felt.

“If I walked out on the street after a competition with my costume still on,” they said, “people wouldn’t see me as a man — or at least not a very masculine one. But in the skating world, it’s always ‘he’ and ‘mister’ and ‘sir,’ because there are only two divisions for singles and guess which one I’m stuck in. I get that they make you skate against people who are physically similar to you so it’s fair competition or whatever. But do they have to be all traditional about it?” Yuri rolled their eyes. “I mean, everybody thinks men’s figure skating is a bunch of queers anyway, so… surely the ISU can do better for those of us who actually are.” 

“Sometimes I wonder if that’s a self-fulfilling prophecy,” Viktor mused. “People assume we’re queer, so if we are, we can just be ourselves, right? I think that’s what attracts us to skating in the first place.” His face grew more serious. “But you’re right, Yura… the sport itself is a lot more limiting than you’d think, given its reputation.”

“I know,” Yuuri groaned. “Don’t even get me started on how pairs and ice dance teams have to be a man and a woman, even though this is supposedly the gayest sport ever.”

“Except for women,” Yuri said, thinking of how pissed Mila always got when no one believed she and Sara Crispino were anything but best friends. “Everyone thinks they’re these straight, feminine porcelain dolls, whether it’s true or not.” 

“The fact that the ISU still calls the women’s division ‘ladies’ says it all,” Yuuri huffed, shaking his head in disgust. “And if you’re a trans woman, forget about even competing. They have to put up with way worse restrictions than I ever did.”

“What?” Yuri fumed. “That’s fucked up!” 

They balled their hands into fists, seething. If trans men had it bad and trans women had it worse, then who knew what the ISU would do with someone like Yuri? Apparently there were only two choices for skaters who didn’t fit into the sport’s rigid boxes: compete in the closet, or don’t compete at all.

“I wish there was a division for people like us,” they said, “without any of these stupid rules. Sort of like — like a league of our own.”

Yuuri grinned, eyes sparkling.

“That’s not a bad idea…” 

_It was a joke_ , Yuri wanted to say, not trusting the scheming look Yuuri was sharing with Viktor one bit, but they held their tongue. If those two wanted to plan a middle finger sendoff to the ISU for Katsudon’s last exhibition skate or something, then so much the better.

Yuri’s phone buzzed with a text from Yakov asking when they were going to come home, and they jumped when they noticed the time.

“Shit,” they said, “it’s after eleven.”

“Oh no,” Yuuri said, “really? Sorry to keep you out so long, Yurio! Especially when you’ve got practice in the morning.”

“So do you,” Viktor reminded Yuuri with a playful nudge. 

“Thanks, coach,” Yuuri sighed, deadpan. 

“I’d better go,” Yuri said, caught off-guard by how much they didn’t want to. If it weren’t almost their bedtime, they could have easily stayed and kept talking for several more hours. _Chill_ , they told themself, _we’re doing this again next week, remember?_

They rose from the table, gathering the empty katsudon bowls and rinsing them in the sink. When they turned to head toward the door, they found Viktor blocking their path. His arms wrapped around them in a tight embrace, pressing their face to his chest.

“Thank you for everything,” his voice vibrated against Yuri’s ear.

Yuri’s chest fluttered at the quiet sincerity in Viktor’s tone. They’d never seen him as open as he was tonight, and it couldn’t have been easy. Until Yuuri came along, Viktor had always been cautious with his true emotions. To see him drop his guard was a rare thing, and Yuri wanted to make sure he knew it hadn’t gone unappreciated. They wound their arms around his waist and squeezed, hoping their touch conveyed what their voice could not.

Viktor seemed to understand, pulling Yuri a little closer for a moment before he let go. When he stepped aside, Yuuri was waiting for a hug of his own.

“I hope tonight was better than last time…?” he asked uncertainly. 

Yuri nodded in response, stepping into his arms and hooking their chin over his shoulder. His kindness rolled over them like a wave, leaving them drowning in the depths of his concern. Would they ever stop feeling blown away by how much Yuuri cared about them? Yuri gulped, trying to ignore the funny things that thought did to their stomach.

For several long moments, Yuuri’s hands moved up and down Yuri’s back in broad, soothing strokes. Then he pulled away with a warm smile.

“So,” Yuri said, clearing their throat to steady their oddly shaky voice. “Same time next week?”

Two pairs of enthusiastic eyes sparkled down at them.

“Sounds great,” Yuuri said.

“We’re looking forward to it,” Viktor added.

Yuri’s shoulders relaxed, a rush of contentment flooding through them as they walked out of the apartment and into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now we finally see the title of the fic coming into play. What could Yuuri and Viktor possibly be scheming about with this "league of their own" idea? ;P 
> 
> In all seriousness, the system of rigid, binary gender-based categories in sports is an issue I wanted to address with this fic because it has such awful consequences for trans, nonbinary, and intersex athletes. Sports like figure skating that are very traditional can be especially hard for those outside the cis binary to navigate. I don't know exactly what the best solution is, but surely there's a way to ensure fair competition without invalidating athletes' gender identities, or worse, refusing to let them participate. So that's something I'll touch on more throughout this story.
> 
> Re: Yuuri's comments about America being different from Japan in regards to the trans/nonbinary community... this is based on reading as many firsthand accounts as I could find from trans and nonbinary folks who'd spent time in both countries. Many of them mentioned that more people talk openly about being trans in the US than in Japan; however, there's also a difference in both countries between bigger cities having more openly trans folks vs. smaller towns having more closeted or stealth ones. Had Yuuri grown up in a big city rather than a small town like Hasetsu, then moved to a small town in America for college, his experience might have been the opposite of what it was. If you've had personal experience with this & have any insight to share, I would love to hear it!
> 
> Yuri's flashback about meeting Viktor for the first time was inspired by [this adorable moment](https://www.insideskating.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/11/Yuzuru-Hanyu-SP-Chopin-2017-Rostelecom-Cup-14.jpg) between Yuzuru Hanyu and a young Russian sweeper named Vadim Voronov at the 2017 Rostelecom Cup.
> 
> Thanks again as always to my fantastic beta [Darth_Claire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darth_Claire).
> 
> Feel free to check out my other [YOI fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTrashiverse/works?fandom_id=11444638) and my [fandom Twitter](https://twitter.com/TheTrashiverse) (18+/NSFW) for more fun stuff.
> 
> And I'd love to hear what you thought about this chapter, so please comment & let me know! See you next week with chapter 4! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 4, and our favorite trio is off to a competition! Time to see how things go for Yuri at the European Championships. :)
> 
> Chapter-specific warnings include: unintentional but frequent misgendering, intense dysphoria, internal conflict around coming out
> 
> OK, here we go!

* * *

**_January 2019, European Championships, Minsk_ **

**_  
_** Yuri collapsed onto the locker room bench, sweaty and satisfied. They couldn’t remember the last time an open practice at a competition had gone so well. Though the rink was unfamiliar, the ice had felt perfect beneath their blades, and they’d nailed the run-throughs of both their programs. Their unusually clean practice hadn’t escaped the other skaters’ notice, judging by the curious stares that had followed them — but the only gazes they cared about were Yuuri and Viktor’s. Having both of them there, knowing there were two fellow enbies in the rink, made Yuri feel invincible. For the first time in a long time, they were actually looking forward to competing.

All of that changed when they stepped up to the microphone at the press conference later that afternoon. 

“Mr. Plisetsky!” one of the reporters called out, and a sharp pain sliced through their gut like a knife. Their fingers dug into the hem of their hoodie as they tried not to visibly flinch. They couldn’t even hear the question through the dizzying pulse of _wrong, wrong, wrong_.

“Yuri,” Lilia whispered in Yuri’s ear an hour later, after the skaters had mercifully been released from the room. “Are you all right? You look ill.”

Yuri _felt_ ill. After the endless barrage of being called all the wrong things, their stomach was churning and their shoulders felt heavy. On top of that, a pounding pressure was beginning to build behind their eyes. They avoided Lilia’s gaze, but leaned a bit closer so she could hear.

“It’s worse than usual.”

She didn’t have to ask what they meant.

As Yuri trudged along after her, they felt their phone buzz in their pocket.

_Yuuri and I are getting dinner_ , the screen lit up with a message. _Want to join us?_

Yuri let out a slow exhale. They’d never been so relieved to get a text from Viktor.

“Lilia,” they said, “tell Yakov I’ll be back in the room after dinner, okay?” 

The restaurant was a small and cozy café, the kind of place Viktor always preferred while traveling (when he wasn’t wining and dining a potential sponsor, at least). There weren’t even any servers — _thank fuck_ , Yuri thought — just a counter with a large menu behind it and a glass display case full of pastries in front. While Viktor went up to place their orders, Yuri slumped into the secluded corner booth next to Yuuri, turning toward the wall for extra privacy. The last thing they could take right now was being recognized and casually misgendered yet again, even by the most well-meaning fan. 

“Long day?” Yuuri asked, concern shimmering in his gaze. “You look like you’re still feeling the jetlag.”

_Damn_ , Yuri thought, _I can’t even hide it_.

“I’m not jetlagged,” they said tightly. “Just… really dysphoric.”

“Oh no,” Yuuri said, voice tinged with sympathy. “Is there anything I can do to help?” 

“I don’t know,” Yuri shrugged. They picked at the edge of their sleeve, shoulders hunched and tense. 

“Hmm,” Yuuri considered. “Whenever it gets bad for me, Vitya usually finds a way to distract me until it dies down. Maybe we could try that?”

Viktor arrived back at the booth with a tray of food. He set it down and slipped into the seat next to Yuri.

“Dinner is served!” he smiled, handing out drink glasses and dishes.

“Speaking of distractions,” Yuri said, stabbing their fork into their bowl of chicken pasta.

A few minutes later, with their belly a little fuller and their nerves a little calmer, Yuri glanced up at Viktor and Yuuri.

“I thought it would get better,” they admitted quietly, “not worse.”

“Thought what would get better?” Viktor asked.

Yuri gulped down another bite of noodles.

“The press conference gave me a lot of dysphoria,” they said. “I mean, that always happens, but… this time it was really bad.” 

“Oh, kitten,” Viktor said, softly patting their shoulder. “I’m so sorry.” 

“I don’t understand,” Yuri sighed. “Things have been better since, you know,” they cleared their throat, “our dinners. And open practice today was great. It’s sort of like when Lilia helped me come up with the chanting thing… the rest of the season got easier after that. So I figured this competition would be that way, too. But when I had all those reporters in my face calling me the wrong pronouns, it just — ” they broke off, huffing in frustration. “It hit me extra hard for some reason.”

“Maybe it’s _because_ you’ve been talking to us,” Yuuri said. “When you’ve had your gender on your mind a lot, sometimes it can make the dysphoria worse. It happens to a lot of people when they first come out.”

“But I’m not out,” Yuri said, “not really.” They folded their arms on the tabletop, resting their chin over their crossed wrists. “...Maybe that’s part of the problem.”

Viktor and Yuuri’s eyes widened, and Yuri felt a flash of confusion before they remembered how badly they’d reacted to the mere mention of coming out during their first dinner together.

“I’m not saying I’m ready to do anything about it,” Yuri amended. “Just that… I understand why I get misgendered all the time, when I’m in the closet and people don’t know any better.” They sighed. “It still sucks, though. Especially now that you two do use my pronouns and stuff.”

Yuuri shot a glance over at Viktor, eyes lighting up.

“Hey, Vitya,” he said, “did you see Yurio’s practice today? I thought they were the best skater out there.”

Viktor blinked, then smiled, catching on.

“Of course they were,” he said. “I’m sure they have the other skaters worried, after how perfectly they did their routines.”

“They’re going to win gold for sure,” Yuuri said.

“Yes,” Viktor agreed. “And then they’ll be the World Champion next!”

Yuri’s shoulders relaxed, the throbbing ache in their chest giving way to a warm, peaceful sensation as they listened to Yuuri and Viktor talk. A little thrill shot up Yuri’s spine with every ‘they.’ 

“...Aren’t they the greatest enby skater you’ve ever seen?” Yuuri continued.

Viktor’s eyes cut warily from Yuuri to Yuri and back.

“Oh, now that’s a trick question,” he said. “I’m not answering, or else I might end up sleeping on the couch tonight.” He took a sip of his water and added with a smirk, “Besides… we all know who the greatest enby skater _really_ is,” jerking his thumb toward his own chest.

“You wish,” Yuri snorted as all three of them broke into laughter. 

Once they’d calmed down, Yuri fixed Viktor and Yuuri with a serious gaze. 

“Thank you,” they said quietly. “I feel better now.”

“Good,” Yuuri replied.

“I just hope it holds out through the short program tomorrow,” Yuri added.

Yuuri and Viktor each slid an arm around one of Yuri’s shoulders.

“You’ll do great,” Viktor assured them, gently rubbing their back. “Just focus on your skating and let that block out everything else.”

“And remember,” Yuuri said, “we’ll be there watching you the whole time.”

* * *

For the next two days, Yuri willed themself not to think about anything but the ice.

When the reporter who’d cornered them for an interview before the short program addressed them as ‘sir’ no less than three times in the span of ninety seconds, Yuri grimaced through the sting and pictured the perfect quad salchow-triple loop combination they were about to execute. When the announcer told everyone how many points ‘he’ had earned, Yuri plastered on a fake smile befitting of first place and set their mind on scoring a new season’s best in the free skate tomorrow. When the representative from one of the athletic equipment companies who sponsored Yuri shook their hand and said, “Congratulations, young man,” they imagined how the roar of the crowd would sound as they finished their winning routine.

Throughout the whole competition, Yuri replayed Yuuri and Viktor’s kind words of encouragement in the back of their mind, sought out both of their faces in the crowd. It didn’t get rid of the pounding pulse of dysphoria, but it bolstered them on the ice and got them to the top of the podium. 

Clutching their gold medal tight in their fist, Yuri held their head high as the Russian flag rose to the ceiling and the national anthem echoed through the stadium. 

_Worth it_ , they thought.

The hours that followed made Yuri change their mind.

The post-competition press conference was brutal enough, but Yakov had also scheduled a series of strategic interviews afterward. Yuri gritted their teeth and braced themself for the onslaught, but the effort was futile. Without the thought of winning to look forward to, there was no way for Yuri to fight through the pain. Every wrong pronoun lanced through their body like a blade until their chest was throbbing and they struggled to breathe.

When the last interview was finally over and Yakov was ushering them back to the hotel to get ready for the banquet, Yuri asked weakly, “Do I have to go?”

“Of course you do,” Yakov said, staring at Yuri like they’d grown a second head. “You’re the champion.”

“Yakov, please,” Lilia cut in, “look at them — they’re miserable.” 

Yakov just shook his head.

“I’ll meet you downstairs in thirty minutes,” he told Yuri, pulling out his key card.

Yuri clutched at their hair, letting out a howl of frustration and kicking open the door to their own room. They hated it when Yakov was like this. As supportive as he was, winning still came first. He didn’t understand that when Yuri felt like this, a gold medal and a championship title meant _nothing_.

By the time Yuri returned to the lobby, skin crawling beneath the suit that was — just like everything else — all wrong, they felt like they were about to explode.

Thankfully, Viktor and Yuuri were waiting for them by the entrance to the banquet with bright smiles and open arms.

“I knew you could do it,” Viktor hummed in their ear as he pulled them close. 

Yuuri didn’t even wait for Viktor to let go before tackling Yuri in a hug of his own, resulting in a messy tangle of limbs.

“You were amazing,” Yuuri said, squeezing Yuri tightly around the waist. “You totally deserved to win.”

Yuri closed their eyes, sinking into the now-familiar warmth of Yuuri and Viktor’s embrace. With the media frenzy, there hadn’t been a chance for the two of them to find Yuri and congratulate them after their free skate or the medal ceremony. Yuri didn’t realize how much they’d needed that until now. 

Something — perhaps the slight tremor that ran through Yuri’s body, or the way they clung to Viktor and Yuuri instead of pushing them both away in embarrassment — must have alerted Yuuri to Yuri’s distress, because he was running a hand through their hair and asking, “Yurio, what’s wrong?”

_What isn’t?_ Yuri thought, but they couldn’t get anything out of their mouth, not even a tight-lipped lie that they were fine. Fortunately, Yuuri understood anyway.

“It’s gotten bad again, hasn’t it?” he whispered.

Yuri nodded.

“We’ll get you in and out of the banquet as quickly as possible,” Viktor said. “Introduce you to all the important people in the first thirty minutes, then leave.”

Yuri shoved their hands in their pockets, glancing warily into the banquet hall.

“Yakov will be mad.” 

“We’ll cover for you,” Yuuri said. “We can tell him you felt sick and had to go back early.”

“Or we can give you enough drinks to make that happen,” Viktor suggested with a grin.

“Viktor, _no_ ,” Yuuri said sternly.

Yuri rolled their eyes at the pair of them.

“Come on,” they said, turning toward the door, “let’s get this over with.”

The banquet wasn’t quite as unbearable as the press conference and interviews. With Yuuri and Viktor at their sides, helping make small talk with officials and introducing them to would-be sponsors, Yuri felt like they could finally keep their head above the tide of dysphoria that threatened to drown them. Every time someone called them “Mr. Plisetsky” or “sir,” one of Yuuri or Viktor’s hands squeezed their own. The comforting touches gave them strength.

When there was finally a break in the long string of well-wishers, Viktor whispered to Yuuri, “Okay, you take Yura back to our room while I distract Yakov.”

Yuuri hooked his arm through Yuri’s, steering them toward the unobtrusive back exit that led to the restrooms — and, apparently, another set of elevators. Yuri ducked into one, collapsing against the back wall as Yuuri punched the button for his and Viktor’s floor.

Once inside the room, Yuri flung off their jacket and tie, then flopped facedown in the middle of the massive king bed. 

“Would you like some tea?” Yuuri asked.

“Sure,” Yuri groaned into one of the pillows. “Tea sounds good.”

They closed their eyes, rubbing at their temples as they listened to the oddly soothing sounds of Yuuri bustling around and preparing the tea. Before they knew it, their lids were growing heavy. A warm hand at the center of their back pulled them from the edge of sleep.

“Here,” Yuuri said, helping Yuri sit up and pressing a steaming mug into their hands.

Yuri inhaled the scent that rose from the cup, sighing deeply. Yuuri had made green tea — and not the cheap store bought shit either, but that good matcha from Japan. The hot liquid coated their raw throat like a balm. The tension that had gripped them all day released a little more of its hold with every sip. By the time they were finished, their stomach felt a little less queasy and the ache in their chest had quieted to a dull throb.

Viktor burst through the door just as Yuri set their empty mug aside.

“Well, that took forever,” he grumbled, shedding his jacket and tie and rolling up his shirtsleeves. “But Yakov has been successfully convinced that you have a terrible headache and needed to go to bed early.” 

“That’s… not entirely wrong,” Yuri said darkly.

Viktor perched at the foot of the bed, concerned blue eyes meeting Yuri’s.

“How are you feeling?” 

“I…”

Yuri didn’t know how to answer. Though their dysphoria had started to recede, it wasn’t gone — not even close. _I come home from every competition feeling kind of like I’ve been hit by a bus_ , they remembered telling Viktor and Yuuri during their first dinner together, and the subsequent horror on both of their faces. What would happen if Yuri said that this time, they felt like they’d been hit by a train? No — they had to come up with something better than that.

“...Can you do that thing from the other night?” they asked, slumping forward and resting their chin in their hands. “Where you kept using my pronouns?”

Yuuri and Viktor settled against the headboard on either side of Yuri, launching into a play-by-play of the best moments of their routines during the competition. Pleasant shivers coursed through Yuri’s body as they listened to the conversation. The words had a similar calming effect to their own chanting ritual, but there was something so much more powerful about hearing their pronouns from someone else’s lips.

“You know,” Viktor said, after he and Yuuri finished heaping praise on Yuri’s performance, “this might be a good time to bring up that thing we’ve been meaning to ask them.”

“You mean whether they’d like to come to Anaheim with us next month?” Yuuri grinned.

Yuri’s head snapped up.

_“Huh?”_

“For Four Continents,” Viktor clarified.

“Yeah, but… why?” Yuri asked. 

“This will be my last one before I retire,” Yuuri said, lightly resting his fingers on Yuri’s arm. “It would mean a lot if you came to support me.”

“I can pull a few strings with the ISU to get you practice time at the rink, even though you’re not competing,” Viktor added. “Or we can find another rink nearby. Either way, you can tell Yakov and Lilia that we’ll help you keep up with your training while you’re gone.”

Yuri’s eyes narrowed as they scrutinized Yuuri and Viktor’s pleading expressions. The two of them had clearly thought about this — had already started making plans to ensure that Yuri could go. _What the hell_. In all the time that Yuri had been competing in seniors, they’d never been invited to watch Yuuri at Four Continents before. They supposed Yuuri’s imminent retirement was a good enough reason, but it didn’t quite make sense. Even with the recent closeness that had started to grow among the three of them during their weekly dinners, Yuri was still a rival first and a friend second… right? 

“Please?” Yuuri asked, brown eyes sparkling with hope. Viktor was staring at Yuri with the exact same look on his face.

Unable to resist both their gazes, Yuri gave a decisive nod.

“I’ll be there.”

* * *

Yuri paced back and forth in their bedroom, waiting for their phone to ring. They tried to match their breathing to the rhythm of their steps, determined to stay calm as they repeated the words they’d rehearsed all week in their head.

Since they’d returned from Belarus, Yuri couldn’t stop thinking about the way Europeans had gone. They were no stranger to dysphoria at competitions, but the levels it reached this time had completely blindsided them. They felt like they’d won the gold medal by the skin of their teeth. There was a very real chance they might not get so lucky at Worlds if the inevitable misgendering affected them to the same degree. 

And that was just the rest of _this_ season. Having Yuuri and Viktor there helped, but once Yuuri retired, Yuri would be left to deal with competitions on their own. And barring any major injuries, they would still be competing for at least another decade. How the fuck were they supposed to get through it? 

The offhand statement they’d made in that little downtown Minsk café still haunted their thoughts: _But I’m not out, not really. Maybe that’s part of the problem._

Every time the words replayed in their head, their stomach lurched. Could they really come out? Would they ever be ready? The thick band of fear that squeezed around their throat said it was still too soon. But a tiny voice in the back corner of their mind whispered otherwise. They couldn’t put up with being called “he” and “him” forever, and there was only one way to escape it.

For now, even the idea was still too much. But they could make a small compromise, they’d decided, by coming out to Otabek.

Once a week, Yuri spent an hour catching up with Otabek over a video call. The two of them texted every day, but rarely got the chance to hang out in person due to their busy careers and the three-hour time difference between Almaty and Saint Petersburg. The weekly video chats were how they made up for it.

This week’s call was only five minutes away, and Yuri was a nervous wreck. They had no reason to believe Otabek would be anything but supportive, but it was hard to anticipate exactly how he’d react. In all their years of friendship, the two of them had never talked about anything as personal as dating, relationships, or sexual orientations, let alone gender. Otabek’s own identity was a complete mystery. Yuri hoped like hell that he would be okay with theirs.

The shrill guitars of ‘Welcome to the Madness’ cut through the silence of the room, and Yuri nearly tripped over their own feet.

When they picked up the phone, their hands were shaking so badly that they almost ended the call instead of accepting it. Once they’d managed to hit the right button, Otabek’s face filled the screen.

“Hey, Yuri,” he said with a little wave. “How are you?”

“I’m nonbinary,” Yuri blurted in response.

“Um,” Otabek said, “you’re what?”

_Shit_ , this was not how this conversation was supposed to go _at all_. 

Yuri’s knees buckled and they stumbled onto the bed, clapping a hand over their mouth. Every word they’d carefully rehearsed had suddenly been wiped from their mind, replaced by the cold rush of their heartbeat instead. 

“Yuri,” Otabek said, voice tinny and far away as though he were at the other end of a tunnel. “Yuri, are you okay?”

_Oh my God_ , Yuri thought, _he can still see me._

“I-I’m fine,” they choked out, but they knew their expression betrayed them. They ran a hand across their face as though they could smudge it out of existence. “I totally screwed this up,” they sighed. “I had a whole speech planned and everything.”

“A speech?” Otabek repeated incredulously.

“Shut _up_ ,” Yuri groaned, burying their face further in their hand. “This is important, okay?”

“Okay,” Otabek said. “How about you take a deep breath and start over?”

“I can’t remember what I was going to say,” Yuri whimpered helplessly.

“That’s all right,” Otabek reassured them. “What was it you said a few minutes ago?”

Yuri released a slow exhale, letting Otabek’s low, even tone calm them before they answered.

“I’m nonbinary,” they said again, this time so softly they weren’t sure Otabek could hear.

“Okay,” Otabek nodded. Apparently he’d understood just fine. “...What does nonbinary mean?”

Yuri swallowed hard.

“It’s, um…” Why couldn’t they recall a single damn word they’d planned to say? “It’s when you’re not a boy or a girl,” they tried to explain, hoping they were making sense. “Like, maybe you’re neither or maybe you’re both.” 

Otabek’s brows shot up.

“Oh,” he said. “I didn’t know that was possible.”

“Well, it is,” Yuri shot back, a hint of defensiveness in their voice.

“Hey, I believe you,” Otabek said. “I’ve just never heard of this before. Um…” he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “Is it… kind of like trans?” 

“Yeah,” Yuri breathed, relieved that Otabek at least had some scrap of knowledge they could latch onto. “It’s actually a type of trans.”

“Ah, okay,” Otabek said. “That makes a little more sense. I’ve heard of trans boys and trans girls — one of my sister’s friends is a trans girl — but I didn’t know you could be something else.”

“Yeah,” Yuri said. “I didn’t either for a long time. I just knew I hated being a boy. But when people called me a girl because of my hair and the skating costumes and stuff, I hated that just as much. I didn’t know what was wrong with me, but it kept getting worse as I got older. So one day I just Googled it, and that’s how I figured it out.”

“Leave it to the power of the Internet,” Otabek snickered. 

Something in his smile made Yuri relax a little.

“The more you know…” they said with a wry grin.

“So… are you neither, or are you both?” Otabek asked.

“Hmm,” Yuri said, pausing to gather the right words. “I guess neither? But it’s not like I don’t have a gender — it’s more like my gender is something totally different. I’m just… me.” 

“You mean you’re Yuri-gender?” Otabek grinned.

Yuri cracked a huge smile right back. _Good_ , they thought, _he’s getting it._

“Exactly.”

Otabek’s brow creased.

“How does that work with skating?” he said. “With the men’s and women’s divisions?”

“I don’t mind skating in the men’s,” Yuri answered. “I just wish people wouldn’t call me a man because of it. And that they’d use my pronouns.”

“Pronouns?” Otabek blinked in confusion.

“You know,” Yuri said, “like ‘he’ or ‘she’ — except I use ‘they.’ So when I’m in the kiss and cry, I wish the announcers would say ‘They are currently in first place.’ That kind of thing.”

“Oh,” Otabek said, “got it.” He smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, I learned English at the rink instead of at school, so my grammar is shit.”

“Yeah, well, English is a clusterfuck language anyway,” Yuri snorted. “But at least it’s gender neutral. Unlike Russian.”

“Yeah,” Otabek said, “how would that even work?”

The two of them spent the next couple of minutes trying to concoct a sentence to describe Yuri in Russian that made any grammatical sense, bursting out laughing when they both realized it was virtually impossible.

“Well, we tried,” Otabek shrugged.

Still giggling, Yuri laid on their accent extra thick and said, “In Soviet Russia, gender fucks you!”

Otabek spent the rest of the call asking more questions to make sure he understood everything. He hesitated a little before each one, almost as though he were afraid of using the wrong words or getting too personal. Yuri appreciated his thoughtfulness.

“Well,” Otabek said as the hour drew to a close, “I have to hit the gym. But… thanks for telling me all of this, Yura.”

Yuri let out a rush of air.

“Thanks for not judging me, Beka.”

Their lips quirked up in a relieved smile as they waved goodbye and ended the call.

“Well,” they said to themself, flopping back against the pillows, “that was…” 

_What, exactly?_

There was no doubt that coming out to Otabek had gone well in spite of Yuri’s botched beginning and fumbling efforts to get things back on track. But something about the whole experience had also been… well, pretty weird. Maybe it was because this was their first time coming out by choice. Or perhaps it had more to do with Otabek’s initial reaction. Yuri hadn’t realized that he would be unfamiliar with the whole nonbinary concept. The careful explanation they’d practiced and forgotten hadn’t even accounted for that possibility. 

It was so different from talking with Yuuri and Viktor, who understood everything intrinsically. Most people would be more like Otabek when Yuri came out to them, they realized, not having a clue what nonbinary meant. _I’ll have to keep that in mind for next time_ , Yuri told themself — then bolted upright at the thought. 

All it took was coming out to one person to make the idea of doing it again seem less daunting. The more they tried it, they suspected, the easier it would get. It might take a long time, but Yuri felt more certain than ever that one day, they could share their truth with the world. 

“...that was not what I expected,” Yuri finished, voice breaking through the heavy silence that had settled in their room.

_And that’s not a bad thing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at Yuri taking those big steps like coming out to their best friend!!! YOU GO YURI :)
> 
> Re: Yuri and Otabek's discussion about the Russian language... Russian is heavily gendered, and although the genders do include masculine, feminine, and neuter, the neuter construct is not typically used for humans. This would obviously be restrictive to someone like Yuri, who is equally uncomfortable with both masculine and feminine terminology. Nonbinary Russians IRL have come up with some creative workarounds for this issue (as discussed in articles such as this one from the [Slavic and East European Journal](https://u.osu.edu/seej/2018/10/25/can-you-be-nonbinary-in-russian/) and this one from the [Moscow Times](https://www.themoscowtimes.com/2018/08/24/lost-for-words-non-binary-russians-fight-the-limits-of-their-language-a62650)). However, Yuri's solution is to speak their second language, English, most of the time. 
> 
> I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! I would love to hear what you thought of it.
> 
> Many thanks as always to my awesome beta [Darth_Claire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darth_Claire).
> 
> I'll be back next week with chapter 5! In the meantime, feel free to check out my other [YOI fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTrashiverse/works?fandom_id=11444638) and my [fandom Twitter](https://twitter.com/TheTrashiverse) (18+/NSFW).


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 5, and we're racing through the season now with Four Continents! And it's going to be an adventure for Yuri even though they're just there to watch instead of compete. XD
> 
> Chapter-specific warnings include: internal conflict/nerves around gender expression, unintentional misgendering, dysphoria, awkward conversations about gender, confusing feelings around romantic attraction
> 
> There is a lot of gender euphoria in this chapter too! (Because Yuri needs something to balance out their experience at Europeans.)
> 
> And off we go!

* * *

**_February 2019, Four Continents Championships, Anaheim_ **

  
“Let’s run that jumping pass one more time!” Viktor’s voice rang out across the ice. “Then we can take a break.”

It was the opening day of Four Continents, and he’d brought Yuuri to the rink for some private warm-up time before the stadium opened for official practices, encouraging Yuri to tag along. While Yuuri ran through his programs, Yuri was busy drilling every element that hadn’t received the GOE scores they’d wanted at Europeans. They came out of a sit spin just in time to see Yuuri fly past, setting up for a jump.

It was the risky quad lutz-triple toe-triple toe combination that he’d added to his free program after Nationals. He’d been practicing it over and over, determined to close out his final season with a bang, but he had yet to land it — until now. His leg wobbled a little on the second triple toe, but he still got in the full rotations.

 _Well fuck_ , Yuri thought. _Now I’m going to have to step up my game at Worlds._

Groaning internally, they glided over to join Yuuri at the boards, where Viktor was beaming with pride. 

“Yuuri!” he squealed, launching himself over the barrier to wrap his fiancé in a fierce hug. “You did it!”

“I know!” Yuuri cried out. “I can’t believe it!”

“I can,” Viktor said, kissing his forehead. “I’m so proud of you.” 

Just as Yuri was rolling their eyes at the overly affectionate display, Viktor turned in their direction, reaching out to ruffle their hair. 

“And you,” he said, “your triple axel has never looked better!”

Yuuri nodded in agreement, squeezing Yuri’s arm.

“Your Ina Bauer is so beautiful, too,” he said. “I wish I could arch my back as far as yours.”

Yuri blinked, taken aback by the unexpected praise. Before they could think of a response, a familiar voice called their name from the other side of the rink.

Yuri whipped around just in time to see Otabek tugging off his skate guards. They waved at him, face breaking into a grin. They hadn’t told him they were coming to Four Continents, and it was worth it to see the look of shock on his normally stoic features.

“Go catch up with your friend,” Yuuri said, patting Yuri’s arm. “We’ll meet back up with you later.” He slipped his hand into Viktor’s and followed him toward the locker room.

Yuri met Otabek at center ice, wrapping their arms firmly around his shoulders. Seeing him in person after that intense video call sent a wave of relief through them. As accepting as Otabek had been, some small part of Yuri had feared that their friendship with him would be forever changed by coming out, and not in a good way. They were all too happy to be proven wrong.

“What are you doing here?” Otabek asked, clapping his hands onto Yuri’s shoulders. “I didn’t think I’d see you until Worlds.”

“Neither did I,” Yuri said, “but Katsudon needed an emotional support tiger, so here I am.” 

“Well, good,” Otabek smirked, “now you can cheer me on too.” He glanced down at the rink access badge around Yuri’s neck. “How did you get ice time when you’re not even competing?”

“Viktor has connections,” Yuri smirked. 

“Well, since you’re here,” Otabek said, pushing off and skating in a slow circle around Yuri, “can you help me with my quad sal? I’m not getting as much GOE as I want on it, and I can’t figure out why.”

For the next hour, Yuri practiced alongside Otabek, giving him advice and helping him refine his elements. At first, his coach seemed wary of Yuri’s presence, but relaxed after seeing how much Yuri was challenging him. 

Yuri showed off their own programs too, curious to see whether they could deliver their routines with the same intensity without any music. Otabek gave Yuri an enthusiastic thumbs up at the end of each one.

By the time Otabek was ready for a break, he and Yuri were sweaty and exhausted, gripping the boards for support as they both chugged from their water bottles.

“Hey,” Otabek said, toweling off his forehead, “what are you doing tomorrow night?”

“Watching the short program,” Yuri answered, “what else?”

“But you don’t have anything going on afterward?” Otabek asked.

“No.” Yuri raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

Otabek tossed his towel aside, unconsciously shifting closer as he reached for his skate guards.

“I thought I’d take you out to dinner,” he said.

“Okay,” Yuri agreed. Spending an evening with their best friend for the first time since the Grand Prix Final sounded perfect. Plus Otabek was great at picking out restaurants — and even better at avoiding the press. 

“Well,” Otabek said, shifting from foot to foot, “I should go before my coach has my head.”

Yuri snickered.

“I’d better go too,” they said. “Something tells me I need to find Viktor and Katsudon before they get themselves in trouble.”

“Yeah,” Otabek agreed with a grin. “Well… see you later.”

After giving Yuri another brief hug, he headed for the backstage warm-up area in search of his coach.

Yuri pulled out their phone and opened their group chat with Viktor and Yuuri, wondering whether the two of them were doing more off-ice training or taking an extended break. By this point, Yuri had been practicing much longer than they’d planned, and they could use a break themself.

 _Where are you?_ they typed with one hand while they unlaced their skates with the other. 

A selfie of Viktor popped up a minute later. He was wearing nothing but a tiny black scrap of cloth that supposedly passed for a swimsuit, lounging on a deck chair with a fruity drink in his hand. In the background, Yuuri was perched by the edge of a pool, one graceful leg extended so that his toes dipped into the water. 

_Look!_ a text message followed. _Did you know our hotel has a pool?_

Yuri rolled their eyes. 

_I thought you were supposed to be training_ , they fired back.

 _Pools are great for exercise_! Viktor’s next message read.

Yuri snorted.

 _Yeah_ , they replied, _you really look like you’re working out._

Those two were probably nauseating the other swimmers with their PDA. Yuri could picture Viktor making a show of rubbing sunscreen all over Yuuri, while Yuuri blushed at his unending stream of compliments about how great his ass looked in his swimsuit or something. _Gross._

Someone needed to make sure Yuuri did some real swimming, and that clearly wasn’t going to be Viktor. Besides, the lure of an outdoor pool — something they never got to enjoy at home this time of year — was too tempting to resist. Even if it _did_ mean they would have to put up with more of Viktor and Yuuri’s sappy shit. By now, those two were probably planning whatever cheesy sightseeing date they were going on tonight.

Yuri stopped in their tracks as, out of nowhere, Otabek’s words replayed in their mind: _I thought I’d take you out to dinner._

Yuri hadn’t thought twice about it — after all, the two of them always had at least one dinner together at every competition. But now, Yuri realized that something about the way Otabek had phrased it was different than usual. 

_Holy shit_ , they thought. _Did my best friend just ask me on a date?_

* * *

“This concludes the men’s short program,” the announcer’s voice rang through the arena. “The competition will resume tomorrow with the pairs’ short program. Thank you and good night.”

Yuri winced as they took one more glance up at the leaderboard. Yuuri was not going to be happy.

He’d given a strong performance in the short program, but not quite strong enough for first place. Everything was perfect except for his triple axel, which he’d over-rotated, forcing him to put a hand on the ice for balance. It was a small mistake, but it had cost him major grade of execution points and left him sitting in second place behind Otabek.

When Yuri found Yuuri backstage, he was doubled over with his head in his hands, muttering to himself and blinking back frustrated tears while Viktor tried to console him.

“It’s all right,” Viktor was murmuring into Yuuri’s ear as Yuri approached. “You’re less than two points behind, okay? You’ll make it up in the free with no problem.”

“B-but — ” 

“No buts, Katsudon,” Yuri said, sitting down on Yuuri’s other side. “You’re going to do great.”

Yuuri’s face tilted up, eyes wet as they met Yuri’s. He threw his arms around them in an unexpected, slightly too tight hug.

“Yurio,” he breathed against their neck. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Yuri shot a panicked glance over his head at Viktor. Why the fuck was Yuuri clinging to them when he had his fiancé right there? But Viktor just smiled and joined in their embrace, resting his head on Yuuri’s shoulder and stroking a hand along his back. Heat swept up Yuri’s cheeks when Viktor’s fingers inadvertently brushed against their own.

After they all sat like that for what had to be the most awkward minute of Yuri’s life, Viktor whispered, “Come on, Yuuri… let’s get your interviews out of the way.”

Yuri used that opening to slip away, pulling up their hoodie to hide their face from any stray journalists who might cross their path. They snuck out of one of the stadium’s back exits, avoiding the crowds on their way back to the hotel. 

They had a dinner to get ready for.

Yuri still wasn’t sure if Otabek had meant for it to be a date. They’d almost texted him to ask, but something had stopped them at the last minute. They supposed they could have sought out Viktor and Yuuri’s advice — if anyone qualified as experts on dating, it was those two disgusting lovebirds — but that hadn’t felt right, either. So Yuri had put the idea out of their mind, focusing on watching the short program instead.

Now that it was over, though, there was nothing left to distract Yuri from their thoughts. 

_If this is a date_ , they wondered, _what the hell do I wear?_

Everything in their hotel closet seemed wrong. It didn’t help that they always packed light when they traveled, so they didn’t have much of a selection. _People usually dress up for dates, right?_ they thought. But the only thing they’d brought besides casual athletic wear was their suit for the banquet, and the last thing they needed was an extra dose of dysphoria from wearing it when they didn’t have to. It was too dressy for a date, anyway — if this even _was_ a date. 

Yuri growled, banging their forehead against the closet door.

Their gaze drifted down to their suitcase, tucked away in a corner. 

_No_ , they thought. _No way._

But they found themself tugging it out of the closet anyway, flipping it open and shakily reaching inside. They pulled out the black plastic bag that had stayed in the inner pocket for the past year, quietly traveling along to every competition. 

Yuri had only worn the outfit in that bag once in their life, when they’d tried it on at the thrift store. They’d never dared to put it on again… just owning it was good enough. 

With the utmost care, Yuri unfolded each garment one by one, reverently skimming their fingers over the fabrics. The leopard print, jersey knit sweater with its knee-length hemline draped in just the right way to look like either a long shirt or a short dress. The sharp black vest, too small to button and cut at the waist like a sleeveless bolero jacket. The charcoal gray leggings that would tuck perfectly inside a pair of black combat boots. 

“Mommy, is that a boy or a girl?” a small child had asked when Yuri came out of the fitting room to look at themself in the three-way mirror, and they’d decided to buy the outfit on the spot.

As Yuri pulled on the pieces again, they saw that same glorious reflection resurrected. The cut of the sweater and vest added a subtle ambiguity to their already androgynous frame. The skintight leggings showed off the shape of their calves. These clothes made Yuri feel the same way they’d felt that day in the store — like themself.

They just needed a few small enhancements to bring it all together.

They freed their hair from its messy ponytail and shook it out over their shoulders. Combing their fingers through the pale golden strands, they separated out a few pieces here and there to weave into tiny braids. 

Next, they went to the bathroom and dug around in their toiletry bag for the makeup they’d packed for their exhibition skate. Leaning close to the mirror, they lined their eyes with a black pencil and smudged out the edges with a fingertip. Then they swiped a thin coat of clear gloss over their lips. 

_Yes_ , Yuri thought, stepping back to take it all in. They whipped out their phone and snapped a quick selfie. _Perfect._

This was the clear solution to their dilemma. Not only did this look transcend gender like no other clothes that Yuri owned, but the mix of styles straddled the line between fancy and casual, date and not-date. And now that Yuri had come out to Otabek, surely he would be cool with them dressing to match the way they felt.

Yuri chewed their bottom lip. Would now be a weird time to text and ask him about the date thing? Or was it already too late?

Before they could decide, a new message from him appeared.

 _Finally escaped_. _Meet me in the lobby in 15?_

Definitely too late. Yuri was just going to have to go to dinner and figure it out from there.

 _OK_ , they sent back.

They locked their phone and shoved it into the front pocket of their sweater, feeling oddly unsettled.

It was still too early to go downstairs, but they didn’t feel like staying in their room, either. They headed into the hallway, where they had every intention of pacing to get their jitters out until it was time to meet Otabek. But they found their feet carrying them to Yuuri and Viktor’s door instead, their hand reaching up to knock before they could stop it.

A second later, Viktor’s face peeked around the frame.

“Yura?” His eyes swept over them from head to toe, taking in what they were wearing. “Oh,” he breathed, lips parting. “Oh, _wow_.”

A tingly, warm sensation washed over Yuri at the sheer admiration in Viktor’s gaze. It was as though someone had taken the burst of elation in Yuri’s chest when they’d seen their reflection in the mirror and multiplied it by a thousand. The more Viktor’s smile widened, the faster Yuri’s heart raced.

“Look at you,” Viktor continued. “You’re stunning.” His hand closed around Yuri’s, the sudden touch making their stomach flutter. Tugging them into the room, he called out, “Yuuri! You have to see this!”

Yuuri glanced up from the foot of the bed, where he was toweling off his damp hair. He was wearing nothing but one of the hotel’s fluffy white bathrobes — and oh, Yuri noticed, so was Viktor. They both must have just gotten out of the shower. _Shit,_ Yuri winced, hoping they hadn’t interrupted something.

But Yuuri was beaming as he slid on his glasses and focused on Yuri’s clothes.

“Yurio! You look amazing!” 

“Come on, Yura,” Viktor beamed, lifting the hand he was still holding, “turn around and let us see the whole thing!” He led Yuri through a little twirl, almost as though the two of them were dancing. Yuri’s face grew so hot they thought it might combust. 

“I’ve never seen you wear something like this,” Yuuri smiled, “but it’s great! It’s like… this is how you were always supposed to look.”

His sparkling brown eyes seemed to stare into the deepest parts of Yuri’s soul, making them shiver. It was both incredible and unnerving to be so well-understood.

“So what’s the occasion?” Viktor asked. “Did you get all dressed up to come to dinner with us?” 

“Um…” Yuri hesitated, not sure why the truth suddenly made them so uncomfortable. “I’m actually having dinner with Otabek.” 

Viktor’s eyes widened, but he waved his free hand and said, “Of course — you two don’t get to see each other much.”

“I came out to him a couple of weeks ago,” Yuri said, feeling a strange urge to explain — which, to their horror, quickly turned into nervous babbling. “So I thought this would be okay to wear, but I’ve never dressed like this in public before, and…”

A soft touch against Yuri’s wrist stopped their stream of words. Yuuri slid his hand down to link with Yuri’s fingers.

“You came out to Otabek?” he repeated with a smile.

“And it went well?” Viktor asked.

“Pretty much,” Yuri said, insides squirming as they remembered how little that call had gone according to plan. “He didn’t know what nonbinary was, but once I told him, it was fine.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri said, “I’ve had to explain it to most people. Even Vitya.” He shot a fond look at his fiancé, who returned it with a helpless shrug. “Anyway,” he continued, turning back to Yuri, “that’s great! I know that was a big step for you.”

Yuri shrugged.

“Yeah, well,” they said, “Beka’s my best friend, so… I thought it was time he knew.”

Yuuri and Viktor nodded.

“Well,” Viktor said, releasing Yuri’s hand, “we should let you go before we make you late.”

Yuuri gave their other hand a squeeze before letting go.

“I hope you have fun,” he said.

As Yuri turned toward the door, the nerves that had been slowly building in their stomach exploded, forcing the one thing out of their mouth that they hadn’t wanted to admit to Viktor and Yuuri. 

“I — I can’t tell if this dinner is supposed to be a date.”

Two pairs of eyes blinked back at them, startled.

“Oh,” Viktor said.

“Well…” Yuuri asked, fiddling with the sleeve of his bathrobe, “do you want it to be?”

And that was the real question, wasn’t it? Yuri had been so preoccupied with Otabek’s intentions that they hadn’t even let themself think about their own. What _did_ they want?

“...I don’t know,” they whispered.

“That’s all right, Yura,” Viktor quickly assured them. “Why don’t you just go with an open mind and see how you feel?” 

Yuri swallowed.

“Okay.”

“Let us know how it goes,” Yuuri said.

“Good luck,” Viktor added.

“Thanks,” Yuri muttered. Gathering all their strength, they stepped into the hallway and shut the door behind them. 

Maybe they were imagining it, but Yuri thought Yuuri and Viktor’s voices had sounded strange just then. They couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. 

They jumped when the elevator dinged its arrival and their phone buzzed at the same time. A new message from Otabek flashed across the screen: _I’m here._

Yuri gulped and stepped into the elevator. Whatever this was — a first date or a dinner between best friends — it was time to find out.

* * *

Otabek was leaning against one of the huge columns in the hotel lobby when Yuri emerged from the elevator. He waved when he spotted them. 

“Hey.” His brows quirked up as he took in Yuri’s outfit. “...You look nice.” 

“You too,” Yuri replied automatically, though they’d barely noticed what Otabek was wearing. Had he made an effort to dress up? A quick glance over his clothes revealed that he’d upgraded his usual T-shirt to a button-down, but the leather jacket and dark jeans were pretty typical of what he always wore. 

What he did next was pretty typical too — shoved his phone into Yuri’s hand and said, “Check this out.” He always showed Yuri the menu of whatever promising restaurant he’d found, getting their approval before booking a table. This one appeared to be a tapas bar with a wide variety of experimental plates. 

“Looks tasty,” Yuri said, “lead the way.”

A minute later, they were on the back of a motorcycle, clinging to Otabek’s waist as he revved the engine and took off into the city.

The ride gave Yuri time to process their interaction with Otabek. Did he think this was a date? So far, he wasn’t acting any different, and he’d gone the same route as Yuri with his clothes by mixing dressy and casual. _Maybe he doesn’t know any more than I do_ , Yuri thought with a wry grin.

One thing Yuri did know was that they’d expected a bigger reaction to their outfit. Sure, Otabek had seen Yuri in all their androgynous glory on the ice, but this was the first time they’d dared to dress that way off it. Didn’t he realize what a big deal that was? _Maybe not_ , Yuri reasoned. _He’s still new to this, remember?_ Even so, his response had felt disappointingly lukewarm… especially compared to Viktor and Yuuri’s.

Once Yuri and Otabek were seated at the restaurant — as always, tucked away where Yuri’s Angels couldn’t find them — Yuri kept looking for more clues as to what the hell this dinner was. But Otabek still wasn’t giving any. 

They talked about the short program while they waited for their food, commiserating over the judges’ scoring in the new points system and how it seemed to grow harsher with every competition.

“Just because they _can_ take off five GOE points doesn’t mean they should,” Otabek sighed.

“Right?” Yuri groaned. “And they don’t have to be so stingy about giving points either.”

“Says the jerk who got five points on that combination spin at Europeans,” Otabek said, raising an eyebrow. 

Yuri stuck out their tongue.

When the tapas finally arrived, the two of them gushed with delight over the clever combinations of flavors, from fried risotto cod balls and prosciutto-wrapped figs to crisp calamari and sweet potato purée with sea salt. Yuri joked that Otabek’s coach was going to kill him for breaking his training diet mid-competition, and he scoffed and said he didn’t care. As they ate, Otabek showed Yuri pictures of everything he wanted to do in Saitama next month during Worlds, and Yuri promised to ask Yuuri for any sightseeing advice that might help him achieve it around the competition’s busy schedule.

All in all, their dinner was no different than any other. _Guess I didn’t have to worry about this being a date, after all_ , Yuri thought, chest unclenching with relief. 

Until the server came to clear away their empty plates — and Otabek asked for a single check. 

“You don’t want to split it?” Yuri said, stomach flip-flopping as Otabek pulled out his wallet.

“I thought I’d say thanks for all your help at practice yesterday,” Otabek shrugged, as if buying Yuri dinner in exchange for skating advice wasn’t a _super fucking weird_ thing to do.

Yuri’s head was spinning as they followed Otabek out of the restaurant. What the hell did all these mixed signals mean? Was he interested or not? Yuri didn’t know what to make of it. And when it came to their own feelings, they didn’t even know where to begin.

Before they could follow that train of thought any further, a voice wrenched them back into the moment.

“Have a good evening, gentlemen!”

Yuri flinched as though they’d been punched in the gut. They’d managed to make it through the whole meal — the whole _day_ , actually — without being misgendered once, and now some idiot had ruined it. Their hands automatically clenched into fists as their chest pulsed with the sting.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, Otabek actually called out, “Thank you!” and waved in return.

Yuri closed their eyes. _Fuck._

If Yuuri and Viktor were there, they would be checking to make sure Yuri was all right. But Otabek was completely clueless. 

_Of course he is_ , Yuri told themself, trying to calm their raw nerves as they climbed onto the motorcycle behind him. _He just learned what nonbinary means… how would he know about dysphoria?_

That was something the two of them hadn’t discussed on the phone when Yuri came out. Since then, Yuri had hoped Otabek would ask more questions, eager for the chance to talk about their gender with him in-depth like they did with Viktor and Yuuri. But Otabek hadn’t brought it up again, and Yuri hadn’t pushed. They let out a slow, defeated exhale. _Maybe he just doesn’t care._

Either way, there was no point in talking about it now. Conversation was impossible over the roar of the engine, and by the time they returned to the hotel, Otabek would need to go straight to bed to rest up for tomorrow’s open practice. 

In the lobby, Otabek remained oblivious to Yuri’s conflicted state, smiling and pulling them into a hug.

“Thanks for coming to dinner with me,” he said, squeezing their waist a bit longer than usual before releasing them.

Yuri cleared their throat. 

“Sure,” they said. Their voice felt muffled and distant. “Thanks for paying.” They spent the elevator ride shuffling from foot to foot, trying not to look like they were avoiding Otabek’s eye.

Yuri still hadn’t gotten any closer to figuring out whether Otabek meant for tonight to be a date. But it didn’t matter. When they thought back to Yuuri’s question — _Do you want it to be?_ — they were pretty sure they had their answer. 

No matter how Otabek might feel, Yuri didn’t think they could like him _that_ way. 

If Yuri was going to be in a relationship, they wanted it to be with someone who appreciated their gender, not just accepted it. Someone who would celebrate their euphoria and support them through their dysphoria, and count on them to do the same. Someone who understood them on every level. 

Someone like… 

_No. Hell no_ , Yuri reprimanded themself, shaking their head to clear that thought away. _You can’t think about Yuuri and Viktor like that. They’re engaged. Off-limits. What the fuck is wrong with you?_

But the damage was done. 

Viktor and Yuuri were suddenly all Yuri could think about. Memory after memory sent their mind reeling. Yuuri’s earnest brown eyes piercing into theirs in the Grand Prix Final locker room as he’d quietly volunteered, “I’m nonbinary too.” The wonder in Viktor’s blue gaze during that katsudon dinner after Nationals, and the warmth of his hand on their wrist as he’d said, “Oh, Yurachka… you were so perceptive.” Every calming embrace and touch they’d both offered at Europeans when Yuri needed it most. The way they’d each grasped one of Yuri’s hands tonight and admired their outfit, faces radiating sheer joy. 

Heat seeped into Yuri’s cheeks — a sensation they now recognized for what it was. Not a sign of embarrassment, as they’d always assumed, but proof of a goddamn _crush_.

They flung themself facedown on the bed, gripping the sheets and screaming into the pillows. They would be better off trying to make something work with Otabek, after all. Or even finding some random person on a dating app. Anything but letting themself have feelings for two people who could never return them… who already had each other. 

Yuri was _so_ fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUUUUNNNNN!!! So now we see the beginnings of the OT3 taking place. Poor kitten... I know you're dealing with a confusing mess of feelings right now, but it's all going to be okay!
> 
> We'll continue with more fun adventures at Four Continents next week (and find out who wins the gold!). In the meantime, feel free to check out my other [YOI fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTrashiverse/works?fandom_id=11444638) and my [fandom Twitter](https://twitter.com/TheTrashiverse) (18+/NSFW).
> 
> Many thanks as always to the fabulous [Darth_Claire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darth_Claire) for beta reading.
> 
> And I would love to hear what you thought of this chapter. :) Thanks so much for reading, and see you next week!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back with the second half of Four Continents! Who's going to win the gold? And what's Yuri going to do about their newfound feelings? Time to find out! ;P
> 
> When I went to post this chapter, I realized that AO3 had eaten my line breaks between scenes in chapter 5 when I ported it over from Google docs. Apologies if that caused any confusion while reading — I've gone back in & added them, & double checked that the same thing didn't happen with this chapter.
> 
> Chapter-specific warnings include: confusing feelings about romance, questioning romantic orientation, awkward discussions about gender, accidental coming out.
> 
> And without further ado, here we go!

* * *

**_February 2019, Four Continents Championships, Anaheim_ **

**  
** Yuri blinked awake, squinting as they tried to focus on the glowing numbers on their phone. It felt way too early to be up, even though they’d promised to be at the arena for Yuuri’s pre-competition practice session that morning. They never slept well when they traveled, especially across so many time zones. But after last night, they were even more exhausted than usual. 

Unable to drift off with their thoughts churning so hard, they’d Googled “how to get rid of a crush” and spent the next few hours scouring through hundreds of disappointing answers on blogs and forums, all pointing to the same conclusion: _you can’t_. Kicking at the sheets in rage, they’d finally rolled over to sleep, trying to think about anything but their newfound feelings for Viktor and Yuuri.

_Shit,_ Viktor and Yuuri.

Meeting the two of them for training — or spending any time with them at all again, ever — seemed like a pretty fucking terrible idea. But Yuri knew they couldn’t avoid it. Yuuri and Viktor would no doubt be confused and hurt if Yuri suddenly started ignoring them. So when Yuri woke, they forced themself to crawl out from under the covers and pull on their gym clothes, as tempting as it was to stay in bed.

Besides, Yakov would kill them if he found out they’d skipped a practice session over something as ridiculous as a crush.

While being around Viktor and Yuuri was weird at first — Yuri couldn’t seem to keep their face from heating — it wasn’t as awful as they’d expected. They let themself get lost in the familiar rhythm of training, focusing on their routines instead of their feelings, until Yuuri’s voice or Viktor’s gaze stopped sending panicked chills up their spine. By the time open practice was open and the officials were setting up for that day’s ice dance competition, Yuri was back to joking around with the two of them like always.

“You can’t tell me you’re still worried after _that_ ,” they rolled their eyes at Yuuri, who had just landed the quad lutz-triple toe-triple toe combination three times, only to insist that he couldn’t do it in the free skate tomorrow.

“What if I get nervous and screw up?” Yuuri said, fingers tightening in the towel he was using to wipe the sweat from his neck. 

“Not gonna happen,” Yuri scoffed.

“But — ”

“Hey,” Viktor interrupted, “how about we do something to take your mind off it?”

“Like what?” Yuuri asked.

Viktor grinned and threw his hands in the air.

“Disneyland!”

Yuuri paused mid-gulp from his water bottle.

“Disneyland?” he repeated. “Why?”

“Why not?” Viktor said. “We are in Anaheim, after all.”

“Shouldn’t we do some cross-training or something — ” Yuuri started, but fell silent as Viktor moved in close, hands clasping his shoulders in a firm grip. Yuri’s chest burned at the gesture, at the way Yuuri instantly calmed under Viktor’s touch, and they found themself having to look away.

“You’re more than ready for the free skate,” they heard Viktor say. “The only thing you need to work on now is relaxing. Coach’s orders.” Next came the unmistakable sound of a kiss. “So let’s go and have a great time, okay?”

Yuri glanced back up at just the right moment to see Yuuri nod and rest his forehead against Viktor’s shoulder while Viktor swept him into a hug. _Gross,_ Yuri tried to tell themself, but that didn’t work anymore. Now they knew the cold sensation seeping up their spine wasn’t a shudder of disgust, but a shiver of jealousy.

They cleared their throat, roughly hoisting their gym bag over their shoulder.

“You two have fun,” they said, turning to leave.

They jumped when a hand caught their wrist.

“What do you mean?” Viktor asked, plaintive blue eyes fixing Yuri in place. “You’re coming with us, aren’t you?”

_No_ , Yuri warned themself, _don’t do it._ Nothing good could come of mixing their feelings with fucking Disney magic. It would be like pouring gasoline on a fire.

But what came out of their mouth was, “Okay.”

They gulped as Viktor grinned with excitement and whipped out his phone to book the tickets and arrange a cab ride.

_...You’re a goddamn idiot, Plisetsky._

* * *

“A toast,” Viktor said, raising his virgin mint julep, “to the future Four Continents champion!”

“Viktor, don’t jinx it,” Yuuri sighed, but he smiled at his fiancé as the two of them clinked their glasses together.

Yuri raised their own and took a long sip, trying to ignore the fond gaze Yuuri and Viktor shared. 

Ridiculous feelings aside, Yuri had to admit their day at Disneyland had been a good one. The three of them had laughed and screamed with delight on roller coasters until Yuuri’s worries from practice melted away. Now they were enjoying late lunch at the Blue Bayou — because of course Viktor had to pick the fanciest restaurant in the whole place — sipping on mocktails and filling their bellies with Cajun food. Yuri wished the park served alcohol… their drink could use some vodka in it. Maybe that would help them forget about the crushes they weren’t supposed to have. 

“Sooo…” Viktor said with a sly grin, and it took Yuri a second to realize he was talking to them.

“So what?” they asked warily.

“How did it go with Otabek last night?” 

_Oh God_ , Yuri thought with a jolt of panic. _I can’t fucking talk about this. Not now._

But Yuuri didn’t give them any choice.

“Was it a date or not?” he asked, leaning forward as if eager to hear their response.

“I still don’t know,” Yuri said honestly. “I… Beka gave off some pretty mixed signals.” 

“Like what?” Viktor asked, and Yuri’s face grew warm as they fumbled to explain how Otabek had dressed up a bit more than usual, paid for their dinner, and hugged them good night, but otherwise acted no different than usual. 

“I guess you didn’t talk to him about it, then,” Yuuri said, which only made Yuri’s cheeks burn hotter.

“No, but it doesn’t matter.” They swallowed around a lump of guilt. “I don’t like him that way.”

“Oh.” Yuuri exchanged a glance with Viktor. “Did something happen?”

_Yeah,_ Yuri thought bitterly, _my dumb ass realized I like you and your fiancé that way instead._

They took a bite of their chicken, searching for something they could actually say out loud.

“Is it weird if I only want to date other enbies?” they asked. Never mind that they had two very specific other enbies in mind.

To their surprise, Viktor giggled.

“Is it weird if a gay man only wants to date other men?” he said. “Of course not.”

“Huh,” Yuri said. “I didn’t think about it like that.”

“Maybe you’re gay for other enbies,” Yuuri shrugged, “maybe you’re just more comfortable with them.”

“I know I am,” Viktor broke in, reaching over to take Yuuri’s hand. 

Yuuri laced his fingers through Viktor’s and squeezed, and Yuri could swear they felt the pressure around their own heart.

“It does help to be with someone who understands,” Yuuri agreed, smiling up at Viktor.

_Someone like me?_ Yuri thought wildly, letting themself believe for a split second that they had potential. Then they mentally slapped themself — hard. _Stop that. What the fuck._

“Anyway,” Yuuri continued, turning back to Yuri, “it’s okay if that’s how you feel.”

Yuri let out a rush of air.

“Good,” they said. “Because I kind of feel like an asshole for not liking my best friend back — if he even likes me in the first place.”

Viktor hunched forward, resting his chin against his steepled fingers in thought.

“You two need to get on the same page,” he said, “trust me. Chris and I went through something like this when we were teenagers… he had a crush, I didn’t.” His eyes clouded over at the memory. “Of course it hurt to turn him down. But if we hadn’t been honest with each other, I don’t think we’d still be friends today.”

Yuri groaned. They couldn’t imagine having _that_ conversation with Otabek. 

“How am I supposed to bring it up?”

“You’ll figure it out,” Yuuri said, patting Yuri’s arm. It took everything Yuri had not to jump at the touch. _Dammit, Katsudon — you’re not helping._

Viktor wasn’t helping either, taking the check and handing over his credit card before Yuri could get out a word of protest. Granted, this wasn’t like Otabek paying for their dinner — Viktor had been buying Yuri meals and snacks and little gifts since they were a small child, just because he was loaded and overly generous. It didn’t mean anything. But still… 

_But still nothing,_ Yuri hissed internally. _Stop thinking like that. This is not a date._

Yuri had to keep telling themself that throughout the rest of the day. Sitting between Yuuri and Viktor in a gondola, shoulder to shoulder and knee to knee, as the three of them soared over Neverland with Peter Pan. Laughing and sharing stories from past competitions as they all stood in line for another turn on Space Mountain, just because Yuri said it was their favorite. Strolling down Main Street together as the sun set and the lights from the street lamps cast a warm, dreamlike glow over their faces. It all felt so much more like a date than last night’s dinner.

Yuri sighed.

_...I knew I shouldn’t have come._

* * *

“The scores, please,” the announcer’s voice cut through the thick silence in the stadium. Yuri leaned forward, holding their breath. 

Yuuri had just finished a breathtaking free skate that brought the audience to a standing ovation. His routine wasn’t perfect — the quad lutz in his combination became a triple, and his final spin wasn’t as tightly centered as usual — but he’d still skated beautifully. Would his score be good enough for the gold?

“Yuuri Katsuki from Japan has earned 202.36 points in the free skate,” the announcer said. “His total competition score is 301.87 points, which is a new season’s best, and he is now in first place and the Four Continents champion!”

Yuri leapt to their feet. 

In the kiss and cry, Yuuri was beaming and waving to the crowd, cheeks pink and chest still heaving with exertion. Viktor aimed his own delighted smile at the cameras for a second before wrapping his arms around Yuuri and pulling him into a kiss. A murmur of excitement rippled through the stadium as the image of their intimate moment flashed up on the jumbotron, and a pang of longing swept over Yuri’s heart at the same time. They wished they could congratulate Yuuri by kissing him too. 

Shaking their head, Yuri pulled out their phone and sent a text message instead: _Congrats, Katsudon. I’m coming for your gold at Worlds._

They tried to meet back up with him and Viktor as planned, but it was impossible. From the moment the medal ceremony ended, Yuuri was surrounded by a throng of reporters backstage at the arena, then stuck greeting a long line of well-wishers for the first hour of the banquet afterward. Yuri caught a glimpse of him every now and then, slightly panicked eyes darting up to Viktor’s between smiles and handshakes. A shudder coursed through Yuri as they remembered being on the receiving end of all that attention last month at Europeans. 

Just as they were contemplating how to break in and rescue Yuuri from the mayhem, Yuri felt a light tap on their shoulder.

“Hey,” Otabek said.

Yuri’s stomach squirmed uncomfortably at the sight of him in a way that it never had before. Now would probably be a good time to take Viktor’s advice and talk to Otabek about their feelings (or lack thereof), but they still had no idea how to broach the subject. Their thoughts had been in turmoil as they’d imagined all the ways that conversation could go wrong — could even leave them without a best friend. 

Forcing a smile, Yuri replied, “Hey,” as they accepted the champagne flute that Otabek offered them. They clinked their glass against Otabek’s and added, “Congratulations.” 

Otabek had won the silver medal, not quite able to hold onto his lead against Yuuri. Even so, his program had looked better than ever. Yuri would have to watch out for him at Worlds too.

Otabek smiled at Yuri over the rim of his glass.

“I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

_Shit,_ Yuri thought, _is he flirting?_ And how could they shut that down if they couldn’t even tell? They chugged the rest of their champagne in one gulp, a sad attempt to drown out their confusion.

Otabek made quick work of his own drink, then held out his hand.

“Want to dance?”

And okay, _that_ had to be flirting. Otabek never danced at these things, and Yuri only did if someone got them drunk enough. The two of them had certainly never danced with each other.

Yuri knew they shouldn’t encourage this. It wasn’t right to lead Otabek on. But coming up with an excuse to turn him down somehow felt more awkward than just taking his hand and following him onto the dance floor. 

As they swayed to the beat, Otabek asked, “Are you glad you came out to Four Continents?”

“Yeah,” Yuri answered. “It was good motivation for beating you all at Worlds.” 

They relaxed the tiniest bit. Otabek hadn’t pulled them particularly close, and he was talking about the competition just like he’d normally be doing. Maybe he’d only intended this to be a friendly sort of dance after all.

And maybe Yuri wasn’t being fair to him. When they’d come back from dinner feeling so certain that they didn’t want to date Otabek, it was mostly because he’d barely reacted to their outfit and hadn’t picked up on their bout of dysphoria at all. But did that really mean he didn’t care enough about their gender? As new as he was to the whole concept of enbies, it seemed a little foolish to fault him for his actions. Or to compare him to Viktor and Yuuri. 

Besides, Viktor and Yuuri were off-limits anyway. Otabek was kind and fun and encouraging — not to mention one of the people Yuri cared most about in the whole world. _I could do a lot worse,_ Yuri thought. 

Testing the waters to see how he’d respond, they added in a low voice, “It was also nice to come to a competition and not get called ‘he’ for once.”

Surprise flashed across Otabek’s eyes.

“Oh,” he said through a short laugh, “yeah, I bet.” He paused for a moment, glancing off to one side. “So… are you doing anything fun for your birthday in a few weeks?”

Yuri gritted their teeth in frustration. This suddenly felt a lot less like a simple misunderstanding and more like Otabek purposefully brushing the subject aside. _Dammit, Beka_ , Yuri thought, _I’m trying to give you another shot here_. But if he didn’t want to talk about it, what else could they do? 

For the rest of their dance, Yuri chatted with Otabek on autopilot about their birthday plans, their exhibition skate choreography, the latest shenanigans at Yubileyny — everything but what they’d really wanted to discuss. The entire time, they had to clench their jaw to keep the disappointment from showing on their face. 

When the song finally ended, Yuri withdrew from Otabek’s arms and quickly stepped back.

“I’m going to get some water,” they said over their shoulder as they walked away.

If Otabek noticed their abrupt departure, he didn’t mention it, simply replying, “See you later.” 

Yuri picked their way through the swaths of mingling skaters, coaches, and hangers-on in the banquet hall, searching for the least obtrusive exit. They didn’t really need any water, but they could use a minute alone to gather their thoughts. Out of the corner of their eye, they spotted a Canadian ice dancer and her choreographer boyfriend slipping through a back-corner doorway. But just as Yuri turned to follow the couple, a voice stopped them in their tracks.

“Yurio!”

Tingles shot up Yuri’s spine as they met Yuuri’s gaze. He was standing by a high-top table with Viktor and someone in a black cocktail dress and red pumps — a skater from one of the other divisions, perhaps. Yuri nodded and waved, intending to come back and congratulate Yuuri when he and Viktor were no longer occupied. But Yuuri was motioning Yuri over, and they found their feet carrying them toward the table anyway. They grimaced inside, bracing themself for a fresh round of trying to ignore their stupid crush while making awkward small talk with a stranger. 

When the other skater turned around, however, Yuri realized she wasn’t a stranger at all.

“Hi, Yuri!” Phichit said with a cheery grin.

“Hey,” Yuri managed around their surprise at not recognizing her before. “Congratulations on your bronze.” 

“Thanks!” Phichit replied. “And congrats on your gold at Europeans. I hope we’re both on the podium together next month.” Her eyes took on a fierce gleam. “With me on top of it, of course.”

Yuri smirked back.

“You can try.”

“I think we all know my Yuuri is going to win gold,” Viktor broke in, draping himself around his fiancé from behind. “But I look forward to watching you two fight over the silver.”

“Viktor,” Yuuri groaned, rolling his eyes as red dusted his cheeks.

“Retired geezers don’t get to talk smack anymore,” Yuri added, because insulting Viktor was the only way to keep from focusing too much on the way he was hanging all over Yuuri. 

Viktor let out a long sigh, resting his chin on Yuuri’s shoulder.

“You’re making me miss the good old days,” he said wistfully. “It’s been so long since I won a medal…” 

“It hasn’t even been a year,” Yuri deadpanned.

“I bet I could come back if I wanted to,” Viktor mused.

Yuri snorted.

“ _Sure_ you could.” 

“What?” Viktor gasped, feigning offense. “I’ve done it once, I could do it again! Maybe I’ll enter Nationals next year just for fun — ” 

“No,” Yuri cut him off.

“I bet I could still make the podium!” Viktor kept going. 

“ _No_ , Viktor,” Yuri said more firmly.

To their horror, Viktor reached over to ruffle their hair, fixing them with a shit-eating grin.

“What’s wrong, kitten?” he teased. “Afraid I’d beat you?” 

Yuri ducked away from his touch, smoothing their bangs back in place as they tried not to think about the sensation of Viktor’s fingers against their scalp. They hoped their face didn’t look as red as it felt.

“Not on your life,” they spat.

Yuuri curled his arm around Viktor’s and gave it a little tug.

“Come on, Vitya,” he said. “Leave Yurio alone and dance with me.”

Yuri blinked down at the floor, eyes stinging. There was no way Yuuri had meant to be cruel, not when he was always so kind. He probably thought he was doing Yuri a favor, getting Viktor to stop bothering them. But that didn’t make his words cut any less deep.

_Leave Yurio alone_ , he’d said. And wasn’t that what he and Viktor always did in the end?

_Fuck_ , Yuri thought, _you’ve got to stop this. You’ve got to get over those two. Or it’s only going to get worse._

Determined not to look at Yuuri and Viktor again, they focused on the shitty pattern of the hotel carpet beneath their feet. After a few minutes, they let their gaze drift over to Phichit. 

Yuri had seen photos of Phichit in girlmode on Instagram, but nothing could have prepared them for how much more incredible she would look in person. It wasn’t just the way her dress emphasized the dip of her waist and added subtle curves to her figure, how her shoes and accessories made the smooth black fabric of her skirt pop, the sparkle of her black glitter eyeshadow or the shine of her bright red lipstick. From head to toe, every inch of her radiated sheer joy. 

Her confidence made Yuri’s stomach squirm in the same warm, pleasant way it had two nights ago when they’d looked at their own androgynous clothes in the mirror. It also sent a whole new kind of jealousy shooting through their veins.

_I wish I could go to a banquet dressed like that_ , they thought.

“Whoa, _really_?” Phichit said, plunking down her drink and staring at Yuri with wide eyes, and Yuri realized to their absolute horror that they’d voiced their thoughts out loud.

“No,” Yuri blurted, brain still struggling to connect with their mouth, “I mean, wait… I — ” Phichit’s face was growing more confused by the second, and Yuri’s own face was so hot they thought it might combust. They slumped against the tabletop, head in their hands. “Fuck.” 

“Yuri?” they heard Phichit’s voice, muffled and distant. They were vaguely aware of her hands circling their wrists. “Are you okay?” 

Yuri didn’t move for several moments, forcing themself to suck down deep, calming breaths against their racing heart. What on earth were they supposed to _say_ after that? 

“I, um…” Yuri cleared their throat. “I’m nonbinary.” 

Phichit beamed, warmly squeezing their wrists.

“Me too!” she said.

“I know,” Yuri replied automatically, then mentally kicked themself for how weird that must have sounded. “I mean, I saw on Instagram.” They gulped and added, “Sometimes I wish I could just… be out like that.” 

“So you can dress like this at a banquet?” Phichit giggled, swishing the hem of her skirt.

“Not — not exactly,” Yuri said. With trembling fingers, they opened their phone to the selfie they had taken in the mirror the night before. “More like this.” 

Phichit’s eyes lit up at the image, and she zoomed in on the screen to take in all the little details.

“This is such a great look on you,” she said. “Not just the clothes, but the hair and makeup too. Totally on point.” She caught Yuri’s eyes again, fixing them with a calculating stare. “You know you don’t have to be out to wear this kind of stuff, right? You could just do it.” 

Yuri’s brows shot up.

“Huh?”

“That’s what I used to do,” Phichit explained. “I started dressing however I wanted… and I just kept doing it until it felt like there wasn’t a closet anymore.” 

“And… people didn’t give you shit for it?” Yuri asked, incredulous.

Phichit shrugged.

“A few here and there,” she said, “but most people didn’t even notice.” She handed Yuri their phone back. “Try it sometime — you’d be amazed at what you can get away with.” 

Yuri’s skin tingled with excitement at the possibilities. Wearing high-heeled boots with their suit at a banquet. Smudging on some eyeliner and lip gloss for a meeting with sponsors. Showing up to a press conference in a backless fitted jumpsuit under their Team Russia jacket. Would little things like that make a competition more bearable? And could they really pull it off? 

Or would they face the same kind of backlash that Viktor had as a teenager for his androgynous style? He’d said things were better now, but… 

“I don’t know,” they sighed. “I’m surprised the RSF has let me get away with keeping my hair this long. I don’t know what they’d do if I tried anything else.” 

“Oh,” Phichit said softly. “That really sucks. No wonder you’re not out.” She leaned in closer, eyes shining with sympathy. “Does anyone else know besides me?”

“Just a few people,” Yuri answered. “My coaches, Otabek, and…” they swallowed, forcing out the names of the two people they had spent the last few minutes resolutely _not_ thinking about, “Viktor and Yuuri.” 

Phichit’s face broke into a relieved smile.

“Oh, good,” she said, “I was hoping you’d told Viktor and Yuuri. They’re the best.” 

Yuri’s jaw tightened.

“Yeah. They are.” 

“I’m so glad I met Yuuri in college,” Phichit continued, oblivious to Yuri’s guarded tone. “We were both at a point where all this gender stuff was pretty stressful with our skating careers. So rooming together was good for us.” 

“I… think I’m at that point now,” Yuri admitted. “Competitions are hell. Europeans were torture and I was the champion. I don’t even want to think about Worlds.” They shook their head. “But talking to Yuuri and Viktor does help.” 

_It would help a lot more if you hadn’t fucked things up with your goddamn feelings_ , they added in their mind.

“Well,” Phichit said, “if you ever need any other enbies to talk to, you know where to find me.” 

Yuri’s eyes widened at her clear offer of friendship. They’d been competing against her for several years now, but they’d always thought of her as one of Yuuri’s friends, never really getting to know her in her own right. With a hesitant smile, they nodded.

“We should start trading fashion selfies!” Phichit added. “Because that pic you showed me was _next level_.” 

Yuri huffed out a laugh.

“That stuff just came from the thrift store.”

“So?” Phichit shrugged. “That’s the best place to buy clothes! You can figure out your style without breaking the bank.” 

“True,” Yuri said. “I should go back there soon.” 

They only had the one outfit, after all. With nowhere to wear it, they hadn’t been able to justify buying more. But now that they _had_ worn it, that excuse no longer held water. Even if they still had to be careful about their public image, it couldn’t hurt to start building a new wardrobe, could it?

“Hey,” Phichit’s voice broke through their thoughts, “Minami’s over there and I haven’t said hi to him yet, so I’ll catch you later. But message me whenever you want, okay? Enbies gotta stick together.” 

She threw a little wave over her shoulder as she brushed past Yuuri and Viktor, who were just returning from the dance floor.

Yuuri glanced at her retreating form, then back to Yuri, mouth dropping open.

“Did you just come out to Phichit?”

Yuri nodded, and before they could say a word, they found themself surrounded by Viktor and Yuuri’s arms, squeezed tight between both their bodies in a crushing hug. 

“Good for you, kitten!” Viktor laughed directly in Yuri’s ear.

Yuri’s chest fluttered wildly. 

_This means nothing,_ they reminded themself. _Those two idiots hug you all the time, but not for the reason you want them to. They don’t feel that way about you and they never will. They literally just ditched you to dance with each other. Get a fucking grip._

Yuuri’s hands slid down to clasp Yuri’s as he pulled back.

“Come dance with me,” he said.

Yuri blanched.

_What?_

“Why?” they asked before they could think.

“Because I’m the champion,” Yuuri said with a teasing smirk, “and you still haven’t congratulated me.” 

Dancing with Yuuri was every bit as awkward as dancing with Otabek had been, for entirely different reasons. All Yuri could think about was whether their palm was too sweaty, their movements too stiff, their face too red. They didn’t have a clue where to look. Yuuri was holding them a lot closer than Otabek had — they could easily rest their head on his shoulder if they had the guts — which was both confusing and terrifying. Out of the corner of their eye, they could see Viktor watching from a few meters away, which only made things a thousand times worse. 

“Um,” Yuri said, gaze finally landing on the side of Yuuri’s neck. “Congratulations on winning Four Continents.” 

“Thank you,” Yuuri replied. He let out a long sigh. “I still can’t believe it was my last one.” 

For the second time that night, his words cut through Yuri like a knife.

“It doesn’t have to be,” they said tightly.

“But it was perfect,” Yuuri said, “winning gold with my two favorite people here to support me.” 

_Two favorite people?_ Yuri thought, pulse speeding up. _Holy shit. What the fuck._ Their brain must have short circuited, because if Yuuri meant who they thought he did… _No,_ they told themself harshly. _It’s still not what you think. Now stop being an idiot._

“You almost didn’t win,” Yuri scoffed to keep from thinking about it further. “You lost a lot of points tripling out that quad lutz.” 

“It will be a quad at Worlds,” Yuuri promised, eyes gleaming.

“It better be,” Yuri said. “I want to beat you at your best.”

“Then you should work extra hard on your step sequences when we get home,” Yuuri shot back. “I want to beat you at your best, too.” 

“You’ll have to compete for one more season if you want a chance at that,” Yuri said, “because I’m taking the gold at Worlds.” 

Instead of arguing, Yuuri just shrugged.

“Well, whatever happens,” he grinned, “may the best man not even get a medal because enbies sweep the podium.” 

Yuri snorted with laughter.

“That was cheesy as fuck, Katsudon,” they said. “So you, me, and Phichit, huh?”

“I think we’ve all got a good chance,” Yuuri said. He patted Yuri’s back softly. “I’m so happy you came out to her, by the way.”

Yuri ducked their head, avoiding Yuuri’s warm smile.

“It gets a little easier every time.” 

As the song came to a close, Viktor strode over to join the two of them, holding out his hand with a wink.

“Okay, Yura,” he announced, “my turn!”

Yuri’s eyes narrowed.

“For what?”

“For a dance,” Viktor said as though it were obvious, “what else?” He stepped closer, moving into Yuri’s space. “Yuuri got to dance with you, it’s only fair.” 

And before Yuri could comprehend what was happening, Viktor was drawing them into his arms.

Just like Yuuri had, Viktor pulled Yuri so close that their chests were nearly touching. But unlike Yuuri, he didn’t make conversation, instead content to hum along with the music as he guided them in a gentle swaying motion. 

With nothing else to focus on, Yuri soaked up every little detail about Viktor against their will. The warmth of his hand wrapped around their own. The bright, citrusy fragrance he wore. The silky smoothness of his tailored waistcoat. The heat of his body, mere inches away. 

Yuri swallowed, throat suddenly dry. How could they have thought dancing with Viktor — or Yuuri, for that matter — was anything but a mistake?

Things only got worse when Viktor asked out of the blue, “Did you get a chance to talk to Otabek?”

Yuri’s eyes snapped up.

_“Huh?”_

Viktor blinked innocently.

“I saw you two dancing earlier,” he said. “I thought you might have sorted things out.”

“No,” Yuri huffed. “We didn’t talk about anything important.” _Not for lack of trying._

“Oh,” Viktor said, face softening into something a little too much like sympathy for Yuri’s taste.

“Don’t look at me like that,” they hissed. “He got all awkward when I tried to bring up my gender. How the fuck do I even begin to tell him the — the other thing?” 

Viktor frowned.

“I thought you said he was supportive.”

“He is,” Yuri amended quickly. “I mean, he’s cool with it, he’s just…” They lifted their hand from Viktor’s shoulder for a second to shove it through their hair. “We talked about it when I came out, but that was it. It’s like that one conversation was enough for him. But it’s not enough for me, you know?” They sighed. “He doesn’t get how important it is.”

“Hmm.” Viktor’s gaze turned pensive. “You said this is all still new to him, right? Maybe he doesn’t know how to talk about it. That’s how I was for a while after Yuuri came out to me.”

Yuri met his eyes cautiously.

“Really?” 

“Yes,” Viktor nodded. “I had never heard of nonbinary before, and suddenly I had this perfect word for what I was — for what I’d tried _not_ to be for so many years. It was… a lot to take in.” A breathy laugh escaped him. “That doesn’t sound like what’s happening with Otabek, but maybe he’s just overwhelmed, like I was back then. Or like you were when you first had dinner with us after the Final.” 

Yuri tipped their head, considering.

“So what should I do?” they asked. 

“Just keep trying,” Viktor said. “Give him time. He’ll get used to it.” He cleared his throat. “As for the other thing…”

“I don’t know how to talk about that without messing up our friendship,” Yuri cut him off in a rush.

Viktor’s eyes filled with understanding.

“I know what you mean,” he said. “Chris and I didn’t talk for months after I turned him down. I was so worried that I’d ruined everything. But he just needed some space to get over it. And after that, we were better friends than ever.” 

He gave Yuri an encouraging smile. 

“I would talk to Otabek before the off-season if I were you,” he added. “That way you’ll already have some time apart in case he needs it. But maybe your dinner wasn’t a date after all and this is all just a misunderstanding. Either way, isn’t it better to know for sure?”

Yuri bit their lip.

“I guess,” they muttered. “I just don’t want to lose him, that’s all. He’s one of the only friends I have.”

Viktor’s hand trembled slightly in Yuri’s, but his voice grew firmer with resolve when he spoke again.

“You have me too,” he said. “And Yuuri. No matter what else happens.” 

Yuri stared at Viktor. In all the years they’d known him, he’d only been so open with them a handful of times. In fact, he was rarely open with anyone except for Yuuri. The way he was letting Yuri in now left them a little breathless.

_You’re a fucking idiot,_ they thought. _Why are you doing this to yourself? Forget the whole thing with Otabek… this is how you’re going to lose everything._

But they gave Viktor’s hand a steadying squeeze anyway, hoping the pressure conveyed all the things they couldn’t say.

The song came to a close, and Viktor ended the dance with a little bow that made Yuri’s face flush even though it was ridiculous.

“Come on,” he said, clasping Yuri’s hand tighter and pulling them toward the bar. “Let’s go get our champion some champagne!” 

Against their better judgment, they followed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehehe, poor Yuri... Viktor and Yuuri aren't helping with their feelings one bit. XD And will Yuri ever manage to have the awkward conversation they need to have with Otabek? I'm so mean to my kitten lol. But at least they're out to Phichit now! Those two will have to go shopping together sometime during the off-season.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please let me know what you thought!
> 
> I'll be back next week with chapter 7. In the meantime, feel free to check out my other [YOI fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTrashiverse/works?fandom_id=11444638) and my [fandom Twitter](https://twitter.com/TheTrashiverse) (18+/NSFW).
> 
> Many thanks as always to my awesome beta [Darth_Claire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darth_Claire).
> 
> Thanks a bunch for reading! :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with a new chapter! This one's a fun little break for Yuri before Worlds.
> 
> Chapter-specific warnings include: coming out (and lots of intense feelings about it), accidental misgendering, mild dysphoria
> 
> And here we go!

* * *

**_March 2019, Saint Petersburg_ **

**_  
_ ** _Nineteen._

Yuri stared at their reflection in the bathroom mirror for several minutes, not quite able to believe it. It seemed like just yesterday they were still fifteen and making their senior debut. But in many ways, they felt impossibly older than they actually were. 

_Guess being a skater will do that to you_ , they thought wryly, reaching for their eyeliner.

As they blended the black pencil into their lash line, they couldn’t help but remember that nineteen was the same age Viktor had been when he’d stopped wearing makeup and shown up to Worlds with his hair cut short, ceasing to be his true self for years. The same age as Yuuri when he’d entered the senior division and moved to Detroit, where he learned things about himself that he’d never understood before. 

_Fuck. Stop thinking about those two._

But it was impossible. Yuuri and Viktor had been all Yuri _could_ think about since Four Continents. Dancing with both of them at the banquet was a colossally bad idea, but what had Yuri done? Given into temptation anyway like an idiot. 

So the next week at practice, when Viktor had asked, “Hey, Yura, what time are you coming over for your birthday dinner?” Yuri had not only been powerless to protest, but had accepted Yuuri’s suggestion of arriving early enough for lunch too.

Yuri groaned as they picked through their closet for something to wear. With all their training for Worlds, there hadn’t been time for another trip to the thrift store. They settled on their most androgynous athletic wear: a thigh-length oversized black jersey knit hoodie that draped sensuously over their slender body and a pair of shimmery tiger print leggings. 

They picked at the hem of their sleeve as they stood outside the door to Viktor and Yuuri’s apartment, an odd self-consciousness prickling up their spine. Would Yuuri and Viktor like this outfit as much as the one they’d worn at Four Continents? 

_Not that it matters,_ they reminded themself, shoving the feeling aside. _Those two idiots aren’t thinking about you that way._

The second the door opened, all of those thoughts flew out of their head.

“ _DEDUSHKA!_ ” Yuri cried.

They flung their arms around their grandpa before he could even finish getting out a cheerful, “Happy birthday, Yurachka!” 

Yuri hadn’t seen Dedushka since the Rostelecom Cup back in November — and before that, the off-season. They talked to him on the phone at least once a week, sometimes more. But seeing him in person was a treat they only got a few times a year, and never on their birthday. They clung to him tightly, burying their face in his shoulder.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” they gasped, voice muffled by his sweater.

Dedushka laughed warmly.

“Vitya made all the arrangements,” he said. “I got in late last night, and he and his fiancé have been taking good care of me.”

Yuri finally extracted themself from their grandpa’s arms and bolted into the living room, where Viktor was sitting on the couch with a shit-eating grin on his face. 

“Surprise!” he singsonged, patting the cushion next to him, where curled up asleep was —

“Oh my God,” Yuri choked, “ _Potya_.” 

They dove onto the other end of the couch and gathered her up against their chest, ignoring her little mewl of protest at being disturbed. They hardly ever got to see her, either — only when they visited Dedushka in Moscow. Dedushka had taken her in once it became increasingly apparent that Lilia was allergic to cats. Yuri didn’t know why Dedushka had brought her to Saint Petersburg, and they didn’t care — they were just happy to hold her again.

“Happy birthday, Yurio!” Yuuri called from the kitchen, where he was pulling a stack of serving bowls out of the cabinet.

“Thanks,” Yuri said, a little dazed, running their fingers through Potya’s thick fur.

Dedushka moved toward the couch, and Yuri scooted over to give him room to sit.

“We have one more surprise for you,” he beamed.

“What?” Yuri asked warily. “I don’t know if I can handle any more surprises. You and Potya almost gave me a heart attack.” 

Dedushka chuckled.

“Well, this one’s about Potya,” he said. “Vitya, would you like to do the honors?”

“Of course!” Viktor said. “Yura… how would you like it if Potya lived here from now on?”

Yuri’s mouth fell open. 

“Wh- _wha_ …?” 

Viktor winked and patted their shoulder, then turned to the kitchen.

“Yuuri,” he said, switching from Russian to English, “can you go get the stuff out of our room?”

“One second,” Yuuri responded, pulling something out of the oven and turning off the heat before ducking down the hallway and into the master bedroom. When he returned, he was carrying Potya’s bed under one arm and her scratching post under the other.

Yuri brought their hands up to cover their mouth. Were Yuuri and Viktor _serious_? 

“We thought you’d like to have her nearby so you can see her whenever you want,” Yuuri said, as though answering Yuri’s thoughts.

“Besides,” Viktor added, eyes growing wistful as they flicked to the portrait of Makkachin that hung above the TV, “it will be nice to have a furry friend around the house again.”

Yuri kept stroking Potya’s fluffy fur to calm the frantic pace of their heart.

“...Thank you,” they whispered.

“Of course,” Yuuri smiled softly.

“Only the best for our kitten,” Viktor added.

Without warning, Yuri’s eyes burned with tears. 

Horrified, they rose abruptly from the couch, setting Potya down on the cushion they’d just vacated. Swallowing around the lump in their throat, they muttered, “I need to go to the bathroom,” and shot off down the hallway. 

For the next few minutes, they stood with their hands braced against the countertop and head bent over the sink, battling against the sobs that threatened to seize their chest. They didn’t dare move until their breathing settled back down. No fucking way were they going to let anyone — especially Yuuri and Viktor — see them _cry_.

When they finally emerged, Yuuri was setting bowls of katsudon on the table and Dedushka was laying a large platter of pirozhki in the center.

“Lunch is ready!” Viktor smiled, pulling out a chair and gesturing for Yuri to sit. 

The katsudon was delicious as always, and Yuuri had clearly made extra because it was stuffed inside the pirozhki too. Yuri forgot all about their training diet, shoving bite after exquisite bite into their mouth with abandon. Closing their eyes, they murmured, “ _Vkusno,_ ” under their breath.

“Your grandpa and my Yuuri make a good team,” Viktor said. 

“We couldn’t have done it without you translating,” Yuuri told Viktor, cheeks turning pink.

Dedushka glanced between the two of them quizzically until Yuri took a moment to relay the exchange to him in Russian. Then he laughed and gave Yuuri a hearty pat on the back.

The rest of the meal passed in joyful chaos, with everyone but Yuuri speaking Russian and Viktor interpreting for him in a mix of English and Japanese that made Yuri’s head spin. Language barriers and on-the-fly translations aside, they all managed to catch up on their lives. When the conversation turned to Yuri’s recent success at Europeans, Dedushka put his hand on their arm, eyes glowing with delight.

“I’m so proud of you, Yurachka,” he said. “I feel truly blessed to have such a talented grandson.”

All the blood drained from Yuri’s face.

Dedushka had been calling them his “grandson” or his “boy” since they were a tiny child, and even though it had felt more and more wrong over the years, it had never _hurt_ the way it did right now. Yuri crossed their arms over their stomach, fighting the cold ache that throbbed at the pit of it. 

They tried to school their features back into something passive and unconcerned, but it was impossible — not to mention too late. 

Across the table, Yuuri gazed at them in concern, clearly aware that something was wrong even though he didn’t have a clue what Dedushka had just said. Viktor, who had understood every word, looked equally uncomfortable. Dedushka was staring too, brow twisted in confusion at Yuri’s silence. 

Something in Yuri’s chest caved at the sight of everyone frozen in silence, waiting for their next move. They knew what they had to do… what they _wanted_ to do. 

“Dedushka,” they whispered. “I’m… not a boy.” 

Their grandpa’s eyes grew round and huge, and they had to force themself not to flinch. 

“But I’m not a girl, either,” they continued. “I… ” Their jaw worked furiously as they fought for words that refused to come to the surface. “I, uh — ” Then the realization hit them. “...I don’t know how to say it in Russian,” they finished helplessly in English, eyes darting to Viktor.

“Oh,” Viktor said, and for a second he looked just as panicked as Yuri felt. But he recovered quickly, helping Yuri cobble together an explanation of their gender in their native tongue. It wasn’t easy — as Yuri and Otabek had proven during their FaceTime call, Russian wasn’t built with the whole nonbinary concept in mind — and it wasn’t as precise or nuanced as it would have been in English. But it was enough to get the point across.

The moment Dedushka understood, he leaned across his chair and pulled Yuri into a firm embrace.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said, voice soft and reverent. 

Yuri’s insides flooded with a mix of surprise and relief. They clutched at the fabric of Dedushka’s sweater with trembling fists. Hardly trusting their voice, they choked out, “...I hope you’re not too disappointed.” 

Dedushka drew back just enough to look Yuri in the eye.

“Disappointed?” he repeated. “Not a chance.”

He squeezed Yuri’s shoulder.

“I always knew you were different from other boys,” he continued. “Now I just know why. How could I be disappointed in that?” He pulled Yuri back into his arms, one large hand patting the back of their head. “I love you no matter what, Yurachka.” 

The tears Yuri had fought off earlier came rushing back. They closed their eyes against the sting, but a few drops still escaped, running down their cheeks and into Dedushka’s sweater.

In the background, they were vaguely aware of Yuuri’s hushed voice asking what just happened, and Viktor’s whispered explanation that Yuri had come out to their grandpa.

“Oh,” Yuuri said, a hopeful smile in his tone. “Vitya, can we come out too?” 

A few moments of silence passed, then Viktor cleared his throat.

“Nikolai?”

Dedushka turned toward Viktor, and Yuri looked up too, hastily swiping at their eyes with the edge of their sleeve.

Lacing his fingers through Yuuri’s, Viktor said in clumsy, hesitant Russian, “Yuuri and I are… sort of like Yura, too? Except instead of not a boy or a girl, I’m — ” his cheeks reddened a little, “I’m kind of like… both.” 

He glanced at Yuuri, who gave his hand an encouraging squeeze. 

“And Yuuri is, ah… hmm…” He paused, searching for the right words. “He transitioned to be more masculine, but not exactly a man. If that makes sense? I hope I said that right.” He blew out a breathy laugh, looking back at Dedushka. “Sorry, we usually talk about this in English.” 

Dedushka waved a hand.

“It’s okay, Vitya, I think I get it.” 

He got up from his chair and embraced Yuuri and Viktor, just as he’d done with Yuri. They both looked extremely flustered, but smiled and returned the gesture. 

When he sat back down, Dedushka glanced around the table and said, “I’m so glad you all have each other.” 

Viktor quickly translated for Yuuri, who replied in a voice that sounded suspiciously thick with tears, “Me too.” 

Dedushka turned back to Yuri.

“I have a question for you,” he said, “and I’m only asking because I care about you.” 

_Oh God, here we go,_ Yuri thought warily, bracing themself for the same kinds of well-meaning but awkward things Yakov had said when they’d started openly questioning their gender. But they nodded for Dedushka to continue.

“You’re not a man, but you skate in the men’s division,” he said bluntly. “So what would happen if people knew?” 

Yuri’s eyes widened. They weren’t sure what they’d expected him to say, but it wasn’t _that_ — the very question that had been plaguing Yuri’s own thoughts since Europeans. How was this even possible? Could Dedushka read their mind? They pinched their thigh under the table to make sure they weren’t dreaming. 

“I don’t know,” Yuri answered slowly. “But I think…” Their hand twisted in the fabric of their leggings. “I think one day I’m going to have to find out.” 

Viktor’s jaw dropped, and Yuuri had to nudge his arm to remind him to translate. Once he did, Yuuri’s face grew just as shocked.

“You mean,” he said, “you would come out? To everyone?”

“I’m not sure when I’ll be ready,” Yuri said carefully, “or what it might do to my career. But I can’t keep this up forever. Pretending to be a man at competitions is…” They stared at the ceiling, trying to find a way to sum up the dysphoria that had plagued them since their senior debut and coming up painfully short. “...Stressful,” they finished. 

“And when you skate, you’re under so much pressure already,” Dedushka nodded.

“Exactly,” Yuri said, caught off guard by how well their grandpa understood.

“Well, whatever happens,” Dedushka said, “you know I’m here for you.” 

Yuri swallowed hard.

“Thank you, Dedushka.”

Dedushka smiled and pulled them into one more brief hug.

“Well,” Viktor said, rising from his chair and stepping into the kitchen, “I think we could all use a little dessert after that.”

“Dessert?” Yuri repeated incredulously. “On top of the katsudon? Yakov will murder me.”

“Don’t worry,” Viktor grinned, setting a four-inch chocolate mousse cake at the center of the table and passing out spoons. “I’m a coach too, you know? I made sure it was small enough for your training diet. And yours,” he added with a wink at Yuuri.

“So thoughtful,” Yuuri rolled his eyes.

“I’ll get you a bigger one after you win Worlds,” Viktor promised, kissing his cheek.

“After he wins silver, you mean,” Yuri said as they shoved their spoon into the creamy chocolate. The richness of the mousse was a welcome distraction from the way Yuuri and Viktor’s affection made their chest lurch.

“Did you make this, Vitya?” Dedushka asked. “It’s delicious.”

“Sure,” Yuri snorted, “if by ‘made it’ you mean ‘got it from the bakery down the street.’” 

“Yura’s right,” Viktor confessed. “I’m still learning how to cook regular food — I haven’t even tried desserts yet.” 

Dedushka let out a booming laugh.

“If you want, we can make some ponchiki before I go home,” he said. “That way you can see how it’s done.” 

“How long are you staying?” Yuri asked him.

“Just tonight,” Dedushka said. “My train back to Moscow leaves tomorrow afternoon.” He reached for another bite of mousse. “Is there anything else you want to do for your birthday while I’m here?” 

“I already told Yakov and Lilia you won’t be at practice,” Viktor added, “so we can do whatever you’d like.” 

“Hmm,” Yuri mused around another spoonful of chocolate. “I think I have some ideas…” 

* * *

Yuri collapsed onto the couch in Yuuri and Viktor’s living room with a long, contented sigh. Potya leapt up next to them, winding around their legs and padding in circles on their lap before settling down against their chest. Yuri grinned and scratched the top of her head.

The rest of the afternoon had been a whirlwind of showing Dedushka around Saint Petersburg. He hadn’t visited the city in years — not since he’d first sent Yuri to train with Yakov — and he’d thoroughly enjoyed their afternoon of sightseeing, wearing a constant smile of delight and stopping to take pictures everywhere like a tourist. 

In the evening, they all enjoyed hot, satisfying bowls of solyanka at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, then went to a cozy bar to unwind. Viktor bought a few rounds for the table, which got Yuuri just tipsy enough to practice a little Russian. His accent was way more adorable than it should have been, and watching Viktor fawn over it was more or less tolerable after a little vodka. It also didn’t hurt that Viktor was an overly affectionate drunk, so Yuri was getting just as many hugs as Yuuri. Dedushka snapped several photos of the three of them with his phone, gushing about how happy they all looked together.

When they’d finally returned to Viktor and Yuuri’s apartment, Viktor insisted that Yuri stay the night so they could spend more time with Dedushka the next morning. Yuuri, who was the slightly less stumbly of the two, set up the living room couch as a makeshift bed for Yuri since Dedushka was already using the guest room. 

Yuri had tried to give a half-hearted protest, knowing they’d regret all of this tomorrow when they were sober. But the lure of sleeping with Potya on their lap again was too great to resist. So for now, they pushed all their doubts aside and basked in the glow of the hours spent surrounded by the ones they loved most.

“This is the best birthday I’ve ever had,” they murmured to Potya in a barely audible whisper, rubbing circles behind her ears. She purred in response.

The next thing they knew, Yuri found themself waking up to the smell of syrniki wafting through the air.

_Where the hell am I?_ they thought before glancing around and remembering. They reached out for Potya, but she was nowhere to be found. With a shrug, they closed their eyes again, focusing on the soft voices floating from the kitchen. They couldn’t quite follow all the Japanese phrases interspersed with the English, but the low, warm cadences of Yuuri and Viktor’s voices was no less soothing. It was nice, listening to the two of them talk while they cooked. Very nice. _I could wake up like this every morning,_ they mused before they could stop.

“...Just a few more minutes,” Viktor was saying over the sound of popping oil in the frying pan. “Is that okay?”

“Mm-hm,” Yuuri answered, “you’ve got plenty of time. Nikolai-san just woke up.” The honorific he added to their grandpa’s name made Yuri smile. “Have you seen Yurio yet?”

Their pulse quickened at the mention of their name… then their heart stopped at Viktor’s response. 

“I think he’s still asleep — I mean, _they’re_ still asleep.” 

Yuri’s first instinct was to jump up from the couch — to literally flinch away from the all-too-familiar cold sock to the gut. But they forced themself to take a deep breath, keep their eyes closed, and lie still. They willed the sounds of the apartment to fade away, imagining that they were at the rink instead, standing at the boards with their eyes trained on their hands. _They, them, theirs,_ they chanted in their head just like they would at a competition, until their brain finally made room for more logical thoughts. _Don’t freak out. It was an accident. He automatically corrected himself. He’s never made that mistake before._

Viktor’s next words turned that last point completely on its head.

“Ugh,” he groaned, “how am I still doing that?”

Yuuri’s voice chimed in, soft and reassuring, “You just have to keep practicing.” 

A wave of calm washed over Yuri at those words. Something about hearing that Viktor had actually been _practicing_ was… oddly comforting, in a way. The idea of him working on it until the unfamiliar ‘theys’ and ‘thems’ became second nature made Yuri smile for the first time that morning.

They finally rose from the couch, raking a hand through their bed-head bangs.

“Seriously,” they added, smirk widening at the way their voice made Viktor jump. “Do you know how long it took Yakov and Lilia to get it right?”

“Oh my God,” Viktor said, covering his mouth with one hand. “Yura, please tell me you didn’t hear any of that.”

Yuri shrugged, shuffling into the kitchen.

“It’s not that big a deal, Vitya.” 

Which… wasn’t entirely true, if Yuri was being honest. Their stomach still swam with the dregs of dysphoria that had shot through them a few seconds ago. But all that aside, they weren’t really angry with Viktor, or even irritated. 

It was hard to be when he was clearly more frustrated with himself.

“I have to admit, I’ve been… struggling a bit with switching pronouns,” Viktor said, brow knotted as he stared at the floor. “I didn’t want you to know.” 

Yuri folded their arms over their chest.

“Why not?”

Viktor buried his face further into his palm.

“Well, I’m nonbinary myself,” he said, “so I should be better at it, right? I mean, Yuuri never gets it wrong. The least I could do was not slip up in front of you.” He grasped Yuri’s shoulder, thumb sweeping gently along the side of their neck. “We promised you could come to us whenever things got bad,” he continued, “and I didn’t want to make it worse. I’ve seen how much it hurts you.” 

Yuri stared at him. Who the hell was _this_ Viktor and what had he done with the oblivious idiot who didn’t think twice about how much he hurt anyone else — about how much he hurt Yuri when he’d run off to Japan on impulse a few years ago? His soft touch and earnest gaze felt almost too good to be true.

Yuuri’s next words were even more unreal.

“Vitya’s been trying really hard,” he said with an encouraging smile at his fiancé. “We talk about you all the time when we’re alone to make sure he gets it right when you’re here.”

_That_ revelation plus the hand Viktor still had resting against their neck sent a rush of flames up Yuri’s face. 

“Y-you two talk about me?” they repeated.

They immediately cringed at how that must have sounded. _Idiot_ , they thought, _you’re going to give yourself away._ Hastily adding what they hoped was a convincing scoff, they said, “Wait, who am I kidding? Of _course_ you do. I’m awesome like that.” 

Yuuri and Viktor burst into giggles, and Yuri’s shoulders slumped in relief. 

That was how Dedkushka found them all a few seconds later. He shot a knowing grin across the room, and Yuri had to fight the urge to duck out from under Viktor’s hand and sink into the floor.

“Good morning!” Dedushka called out in a cheerful singsong voice. “Is that syrniki I smell?”

“Yes,” Yuri said, effortlessly switching to Russian and motioning their grandpa toward the dining room table. “Have a seat and we’ll fix you a plate… if Vitya didn’t burn it.” 

Viktor cursed under his breath as he turned to flip the cheese pancakes, smiling with relief when he saw they were still perfectly browned.

While Yuuri reached into the cabinets for plates and silverware, Yuri filled four mugs with tea and brought them to the table. As they went back to the fridge for the jam, Viktor slipped in behind them, bending until his mouth nearly brushed their ear.

“I’m really sorry, Yura,” he murmured. “I may screw up sometimes, but I…” he swallowed, “I promise I don’t see you as a man.” 

A low warmth filled Yuri’s belly. They gently nudged their elbow into Viktor’s side.

“I know you don’t,” they whispered back. “Now come on, let’s eat before that breakfast you cooked gets cold.”

* * *

That afternoon was as busy as the one before, with dessert for lunch at Yuri’s favorite pastry café (Yuuri and Viktor swore not to tell Yakov) followed by a quick trip to the rink so Yuri could show Dedushka how much they’d improved their programs since the Rostelecom Cup. Dedushka cheered enthusiastically as Yuri stepped off the ice, exclaiming, “I think we’re looking at the new World Champion!”

All too soon, it was time to take him to the station to catch his train home.

While Yuuri and Viktor unloaded Dedushka’s luggage from the back of the car, Yuri wrapped their arms around him and held on as tight as they could, drawing all the strength they would need at Worlds from his embrace. 

“It was wonderful to see you, my Yurachka,” Dedushka said warmly. 

“You too,” Yuri replied, grateful that his jacket muffled their voice enough that he couldn’t tell it was shaking. “Thank you for bringing Potya. And… you know. For being so cool with everything.”

Dedushka patted Yuri’s back.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said. “And if you ever need to talk about it more, you can always call.”

Yuri nodded, eyes stinging.

“Give Potya plenty of kisses for me,” Dedushka added. “And tell Viktor and Yuuri to do the same.” 

Yuri barked out a laugh around the lump in their throat at the thought of Potya actually allowing Yuuri or Viktor to kiss her. 

“I will.”

“And good luck with those two, hmm?” Dedushka pulled back just enough to glance pointedly at Viktor and Yuuri, then flash an obvious wink.

Yuri’s stomach dropped.

“ _Dedushka!_ ” 

“What?” Dedushka said with a much too innocent shrug. 

“It’s — it’s not like that!”

Dedushka pulled out his phone and held it up to Yuri.

“Oh no?” he grinned.

Yuri warily looked at the image on the screen. It was one of the photos from the bar last night. Viktor had an arm slung around Yuri’s shoulders, tucking them firmly against his side, and Yuuri was draped halfway across Viktor’s lap so he could nudge Yuri in the ribs as he laughed at something. 

Yuri’s mouth went dry. This photo made it look like the three of them were… 

_It doesn’t matter what it looks like_ , they swiftly reminded themself. _It’s impossible._

Clearly Dedushka didn’t think so, chuckling as he tucked his phone back into his pocket.

“I’m sure you’ll all be very happy together,” he said.

Yuri groaned and hid their face in their hands.

During the ride back to Yuuri and Viktor’s apartment, Yuri could barely look at either of them without blushing. It didn’t help that Dedushka had texted Yuri that photo no more than five minutes after his train had departed — along with all the other pictures he’d taken.

When Yuuri leaned around to rest a hand on Yuri’s knee, they flinched.

“Would you like to stay for dinner tonight?” Yuuri asked. “We need someone to help us eat that leftover pirozhki. And I bet it would make Potya happy.” 

He gazed up at Yuri through his glasses with a hopeful smile. 

Yuri shook their head, powerless against those eyes.

“...Okay.” 

* * *

Dinner that night turned into dinner the next day after practice, then more and more throughout the week. The reasons were different every time. Viktor was learning a new recipe and needed an extra guinea pig to taste it. Yuuri wanted takeout and the delivery fee was easier to justify if they ordered enough for three. Potya had been missing Yuri again.

“You should come see her every night,” Viktor suggested one evening when he noticed how reluctant Yuri was to stop cuddling her and go home.

Yuuri agreed, patting Yuri’s shoulder and adding, “I know you must have missed her a lot while she was with your grandpa.” 

And how could Yuri say no to spending more time with their cat? (They carefully avoided thinking about how they’d be happy to spend more time with Viktor and Yuuri too, whether Potya was there or not.)

With their once-weekly dinners now turned into a nightly event, Yuri’s conversations with Yuuri and Viktor began to expand far beyond gender. The three of them talked about their childhoods, their families and friends, their favorite hobbies, their hopes and plans for the future. And of course, they talked about skating. 

The day before their flight to Worlds, Yuri and Yuuri pored over their practice and competition footage one more time, soaking up every bit of last-minute advice Viktor doled out. With Potya purring in their lap and Viktor and Yuuri wedged in at their sides, Yuri let a sense of calm confidence wash over them. They had what it took to win — they could feel it. 

_You’d better_ , they told themself as they watched Yuuri land a quad flip on the screen. _You’ll never get to compete against him again if you don’t._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has probably been my favorite chapter to write so far! I had so much fun with Yuri's birthday and including a glimpse of their relationship with their grandpa. Dedushka says trans rights AND ships the OT3 ;)
> 
> Most of y'all are probably familiar with pirozhki from watching Yuri on Ice, but the other Russian foods mentioned in this chapter are:
> 
>   * Ponchiki: fried donut holes made from quark/farmer's cheese
>   * Syrniki: fried pancakes, also made from quark/farmer's cheese
>   * Solyanka: a thick spicy and sour soup
> 

> 
> Thanks so much for reading this chapter! I'd love to hear what you thought of it.
> 
> Next up, our trio is off to Worlds! In the meantime, feel free to check out my other [YOI fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTrashiverse/works?fandom_id=11444638) and my [fandom Twitter](https://twitter.com/TheTrashiverse) (18+/NSFW).
> 
> Many thanks as always to my fabulous beta [Darth_Claire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darth_Claire).
> 
> See y'all next week with Chapter 8! :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 8, and the gang is getting ready to compete at the World Championships! Buckle up, because this competition is a wild ride.
> 
> Big chapter-specific warning for this one: REALLY BAD DYSPHORIA as a result of misgendering, both from someone who doesn't know any better and someone who does. (Please, please take care of yourself with this one if it could trigger your own dysphoria or other negative feelings. If you need to skip the part where the misgendering and resulting dysphoria happens, search for: '“Yurio!” Yuuri smiled as he answered the door' and start reading after that. I've also included a brief description in the end notes for context/to help you make a decision about skipping.)
> 
> OK, here we go!

* * *

**_March 2019, World Championships, Saitama_  
  
**

“Well, Mr. Plisetsky,” Lucas said, setting down his fork, “shall we discuss the terms of our agreement?” 

Yuri nodded, trying to make it look like they weren’t clenching their teeth. 

Lucas Andrews was a marketing executive from Cat Stretch Sportswear, the company that made Yuri’s new favorite line of feline-themed practice clothes. Yakov had been trying to get them to sponsor Yuri for months — “If you’re going to wear everything they make, you may as well get paid for it” — and he’d finally arranged a dinner with one of their representatives at Worlds. Lucas had been delighted to meet Yuri and was clearly interested in making some sort of offer. 

He’d also been aggressively misgendering Yuri all night.

The first time Lucas called them “Mr. Plisetsky,” Yuri quickly forced out a “Please, call me Yuri,” through the waves of nausea flooding their gut. But he’d just switched to calling them “young man” instead. 

At the end of almost every. Single. Sentence.

Yuri wanted to _scream_.

And now Lucas was getting down to business, he was back to the formalities, utterly unaware of what every “Mr.” and “sir” was doing to Yuri. 

For the next thirty minutes, Yuri gripped the arms of their chair and fought to keep up with the exchange of dates and numbers and obligations. They let Yakov and Lilia do most of the talking, managing to nod in all the right places and answer questions on autopilot. But the queasiness in their stomach turned to painful roil, and their temples wouldn’t stop pounding. By the time Lucas was standing up and pumping their hand — with another “Mr. Plisetsky” thrown in for good measure — Yuri was on the verge of throwing up.

“Yura, you look like you’re going to be sick,” Lilia said, observant as ever.

“Was it something you ate?” Yakov asked. “We can’t have you getting food poisoning the night before the short.” 

Yuri swallowed a mouthful of bile, eyes narrowed as they followed Lucas’ retreating form.

“...It wasn’t the food.” 

They could tell in an instant that Lilia understood. Yakov remained oblivious.

“Then what’s wrong?” he demanded as they all gathered their coats and left the restaurant.

“You know what,” Yuri ground out, burrowing down into their leopard print hoodie. “You heard what he said.” 

“That he wants to sponsor you?” Yakov asked.

“No!” Yuri huffed. They glanced around at the crowded street, then moved a little closer, lowering their voice to a harsh whisper. “You really didn’t notice what he called me every three seconds? ‘Sir, young man, Mr. Plisetsky?’” Repeating the words left a bitter taste on their tongue. “Because I sure as fuck did.”

Yakov’s eyes widened. 

_Finally,_ Yuri thought, _he’s caught on._

Which was why his next words landed like a blow to the gut.

“Yuri, come on,” he shrugged. “He offered you a _quarter million_ for that contract. That’s got to make up for it, right?” 

“No,” Yuri said through gritted teeth. “It really doesn’t.” 

The whole way back to the hotel, they tried to make Yakov understand just what that dinner had cost them. But it felt like nothing they said was getting through. At one point Lilia broke in, instructing Yuri to take deep breaths and repeat their pronoun mantra in time with her. But it didn’t help. After everything they’d endured from Lucas, their body felt like a bomb on the verge of exploding at the slightest provocation. Nothing could calm them down.

“Don’t you think you’re being unfair?” Yakov asked as the three of them piled into the elevator. “How would Lucas know what to call you? How would anyone know when you don’t tell them?”

“That’s not the _point,_ ” Yuri howled, twisting at the ends of their hair in frustration. “I don’t expect anyone to know! But I _do_ expect you to keep me away from situations like that on the night before I have to skate in the biggest event of the season!” 

“Yuri — ” 

“I mean, for God’s sake, Yakov, you’re my _coach!_ ” Their voice exploded down the hallway as the elevator door opened. “Your number one job at competitions is to keep me in the right state of mind to win. And right now? I’m in the worst state of mind there is!” 

“But anything can happen once we arrive,” Yakov yelled back, “you know that! The press, the other skaters, sponsors — you can’t predict what they’ll say. But you’ve got to be prepared!” He shook his head. “How many years have you been doing this without a problem? Why is it such a big deal now?” 

“I don’t know!” Yuri snapped. “But I can’t help it, okay?” 

Yakov sighed.

“Yuri, please, you’re a grown man now, surely you can deal with — ” 

He froze, realizing what he’d said exactly one second too late.

“Yakov!” Lilia gasped.

The sickening churn in Yuri’s stomach burst into their chest like fiercy acid, a mix of dysphoria and rage and utter betrayal consuming everything in its path. Their eyes narrowed into tiny slits.

“A grown _what_?” they repeated, voice low and cold.

Yakov clasped Yuri’s wrist between his hands, all the anger in his red face deflating.

“A grown adult,” he amended, “Yura, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to — ” 

“I don’t want to hear it!” Yuri screamed. 

They wrenched their arm out of Yakov’s grip and bolted back down the hall. As they headed for the elevator, they vaguely registered the echoes of Lilia’s voice ripping Yakov a new one, but they didn’t stop. They didn’t care. 

There was only one place they wanted to be, and they had to get there _now_.

* * *

“Yurio!” Yuuri smiled as he answered the door. The cheerful expression dropped from his face as soon as he registered the look on Yuri’s. “What’s wrong?”

He stepped aside, one hand gently closing around Yuri’s arm as he ushered them over the threshold.

Yuri shuffled inside, heart pounding as their eyes darted between Yuuri and Viktor. The two of them were clearly winding down for the night. Yuuri had already changed into casual sleepwear, and Viktor was wrapped in one of the hotel’s bathrobes while he sat in bed playing on his phone. They both looked so relaxed that Yuri wondered whether they should have come at all.

They took a deep breath and reminded themself of Yuuri and Viktor’s promises after the Final. _If the dysphoria gets too bad, you can always tell us. You don’t have to deal with that alone anymore._

“I…” they began, voice cracking. They swallowed hard. “I got a new sponsorship,” was all they managed before their tears finally came flooding out.

They slumped against the door, reaching up instinctively to hide their face from Viktor and Yuuri’s concerned gazes as sobs wracked their body. 

“...Oh, Yurio,” Yuuri sighed.

His hand slid down from their wrist to their palm, and Yuri latched on without thinking, threading their fingers together and clinging tight. Somewhere in the background, Yuri heard the rustling of covers and Viktor’s soothing voice murmur, “Come here,” and then Yuuri was tugging on their hand and leading them toward the bed.

Viktor already had one arm stretched out to tuck Yuri against his side, gently guiding their head to his shoulder. Yuri collapsed into him heavily, winding an arm around his middle. Yuuri climbed in and molded himself to Yuri’s back, curling his arms and legs through theirs and resting his face against the nape of their neck. Yuri swallowed around the burning lump in their throat. Yuuri and Viktor felt so warm and solid, holding Yuri together as everything inside them threatened to crumble apart. 

Yuri had no idea how long they lay there, letting Viktor and Yuuri comfort them while more and more tears slipped past their defenses. Time lost all meaning in the cocoon of soft clothes and smooth skin, strong arms and quiet sighs. It wasn’t until Yuri’s breathing fell into a slow, even rhythm that Viktor finally spoke.

“Feeling any better, kitten?” he murmured, lips grazing Yuri’s temple.

Yuri sniffed. They did feel calmer than when they’d fled up here and pounded on the door. But _better_? It was hard to say.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” Yuuri prompted gently.

 _Not really,_ Yuri thought, swiping at the sticky moisture on their face. But they knew they couldn’t move past this unless they tried. 

“I got a new sponsorship,” Yuri picked back up where they’d left off, and in halting, half-formed phrases, they explained how their dinner with Lucas had gone.

“Oh, Yurachka,” Viktor sighed into their hair.

“Th-that’s not the worst thing,” Yuri continued. Their voice sounded like it was miles away. “Yakov...” They closed their eyes. They could barely make themself say the words. “He… he called me a man.” 

Yuuri’s head snapped up.

“He _what_?”

Viktor pushed himself up, muscles tense and voice clipped with rage as he said, “I’m going to talk to him.” 

“ _No,_ ” Yuri said, pressing Viktor back down to the mattress with the arm they still had around his waist. “Don’t.”

“But Yura — ”

“It was an accident,” Yuri cut him off. They angled their head just enough to meet his icy gaze. “Like the other week, when you slipped up on my pronouns.” 

That got Viktor to stop moving, shoulders growing slack as his face blanched. Yuri settled more deeply against him again, satisfied that he wasn’t going anywhere. 

“Yakov didn’t mean it,” they said. “He just…” 

“...said it at the worst time,” Yuuri finished. His lips blew warm puffs of air into Yuri’s neck with every word, making Yuri shiver as they nodded.

“Exactly.” 

“What the hell was he thinking?” Viktor ground out. “You have to _skate_ tomorrow.”

“That’s what I said,” Yuri agreed. “But he wasn’t thinking.” They shook their head. “He still doesn’t get it.” 

“But you’ve been out to him longer than anyone else,” Yuuri said, voice edged with worry. “Right?”

Yuri shrugged.

“Doesn’t mean he knows dysphoria when he sees it.” _Not like you two do_.

A soft buzzing sound cut through the stillness of the room, and Viktor glanced down at his phone with a frown. 

“...Yakov’s calling me.”

“Fuck,” Yuri groaned.

“Do you want me to answer?” Viktor asked. 

“No.”

“Are you sure?” Viktor pressed. “It would be easier than going down there — ”

“I said no,” Yuri insisted. “I don’t need you to talk to him… Lilia’s probably done enough of that already.” 

Viktor set his phone down reluctantly, jaw still set with tension. 

“What _do_ you need?”

“Just text him and tell him to leave me alone,” Yuri said.

“Is there anything else we can do?” Yuri asked, softly stroking their arm.

Yuri closed their eyes. Their fingers tightened subconsciously in Viktor’s robe and Yuuri’s shirt, keeping them both exactly where they were. _Don’t move. Don’t let go. Just let me stay right here and never leave again._

What they said instead surprised them.

“I want to look… more like myself on the ice tomorrow.”

They heard two sharp intakes of breath from either side.

“What did you have in mind?” Viktor asked.

Phichit’s advice about dressing up suddenly echoed in Yuri’s head: _You’d be amazed at what you can get away with._ They couldn’t get away with changing their costumes, but… 

“My hair? Makeup?” Yuri suggested. “Something that will remind me who I really am every time the announcers call me the wrong things.” They blew out a breath. “...Something everyone can see, even if they don’t understand.”

Squeezing Yuri’s shoulder, Yuuri said, “I think we can help with that.” 

“Hey, Yuuri,” Viktor grinned, “it’s Thursday. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Manicure night?” Yuuri replied, eyes gleaming.

Yuri’s eyes opened into a suspicious glare.

“What’s manicure night?”

“If you stayed over after dinner on Thursdays, you’d know,” Viktor teased. “That’s when I do my nails every week. And Yuuri’s.” 

Yuri frowned.

“I’ve never seen either of you wear nail polish before.”

“Oh, we don’t usually paint them,” Viktor said. “We just keep them in good shape. But I could paint yours.” He gently took Yuri’s hand, stroking it with his thumb. “Trim, file, a fun pop of color, the works. What do you think?” He frowned as he brought Yuri’s hand up to his face. “Your cuticles could certainly use some help…” 

Yuri snatched it back. 

“Hey!” 

“Don’t worry, Yurio,” Yuuri giggled, “he said the same thing about my cuticles too.”

“Of course I did,” Viktor groaned dramatically, “you used to _bite_ yours!” 

Yuri rolled their eyes.

“If this is what your manicure nights are like…” 

“Sorry, sorry,” Viktor said, “we’ll behave.” He shot Yuri a placating smile. “What color would you like? We should choose something that coordinates with your costumes… Wait!” he gasped, eyes widening. “Where are we going to get nail polish?” 

Shaking his head and smiling fondly, Yuri said, “I’ll go see if Phichit has some we can borrow.” 

As he rolled out of bed to head to Phichit’s room, Viktor gently disentangled himself from Yuri’s other side and sat up.

Yuri let out an unconscious noise of protest at being jostled — then choked as the full weight of the situation hit them. They’d just spent the last hour _wrapped up in Yuuri and Viktor’s arms._ In their _bed_. Holy shit. What the hell was _wrong_ with them?

Fortunately, Viktor didn’t seem to notice the crisis Yuri was going through. 

“Come on,” he said cheerfully, tugging Yuri up to sit across from him on the mattress, “we can get started on the important part.” He opened the top drawer of the nightstand and pulled out an expensive-looking leather case. Laying a pillow across his lap and fluffing it with a few firm pats, he said, “Put your hands here.”

Yuri warily scooted closer and spread their hands across the cool cotton surface. Viktor scooped up the left one and dabbed it with cream, massaging it in with his thumbs.

Heat engulfed Yuri’s face, spreading all the way to the tips of their ears. Somehow they’d failed to realize that a manicure would involve so much touching. They suppressed the shivers that ran up their spine, firmly reminding themself that this absolutely did _not_ count as holding hands.

Keeping their face carefully controlled, they asked, “What’s this stuff for?”

“It just softens up the skin,” Viktor answered as he lavished extra attention on their cuticles. “Which makes this next part easier.” 

Yuri gulped.

“...Do I even want to know?” 

But it wasn’t so bad. The little tools Viktor used to push back Yuri’s cuticles and clip away the dead skin didn’t hurt at all — they just felt a bit weird. As Viktor worked, he said, “I can show you how to keep this maintained. Or, you know,” he shrugged, “you could just stay over on Thursdays and let me do it for you.”

Yuri’s face flushed at the thought.

“You really have time for three manicures every week?” they asked. “That seems over the top, even for you.”

“Oh, not at all,” Viktor said, “I love doing this.” He carefully laid down their left hand and picked up their right. “This is one of the only things that I…” he swallowed, “that I didn’t stop doing after I cut my hair.” 

“Oh,” Yuri blinked. They’d always figured that Viktor keeping his nails (and hair and skin and everything else) so immaculate was just a ‘being extra’ thing — they’d never even considered it might be a gender thing.

“When I was younger I painted my nails all kinds of colors,” he continued, a nostalgic fondness lighting up his eyes. “I had to be careful to keep my gloves on at the rink. But I liked the way it looked. And it’s so nice to pamper yourself, you know?” He smiled as he spread cream over Yuri’s right hand, giving it the same treatment as the left. “I enjoy doing that for other people, too.” 

Before Yuri could think of a response, the door flew open.

“Okay,” Yuuri announced, “I have colors!” He climbed into the bed and laid the bottles out on the mattress. The first was a rich royal blue with a matte finish, the second a dark, sleek burgundy. But Yuri’s free hand closed around the third, which had caught their eye the second they’d spotted it.

“This one will go with my costumes _and_ my medal,” they grinned.

Viktor plucked the bottle from Yuri’s fingers.

“Gold,” he mused, turning it this way and that to catch in the light. The paint sparkled with tiny flecks of glitter. “Well, that certainly makes a statement.”

“Put it on,” Yuri said eagerly.

“Not so fast, kitten,” Viktor chuckled, running his thumb over the tips of Yuri’s nails. “We still need to even these up.” 

Yuri heaved an impatient sigh.

“Yurio,” Yuuri asked, “you wanted to do something different with your hair tomorrow, right?” His cheeks grew slightly pink. “Do you mind if I try a few things?” 

“Sure,” Yuri said. “Anything beats how I’ve been wearing it.” 

This season they’d abandoned the prima ballerina image of Lilia’s intricate updos for something a bit more grown up, styling their hair in a simple low ponytail with their bangs left out to frame their face. But it didn’t just make them look older — it unfortunately made them look more masculine too. And on top of that, it was _boring_. They were sure Yuuri could come up with something better.

At the first drag of Yuuri’s fingertips along their scalp, their entire body broke out in tingles.

For the next few minutes, Yuri let themself drown in the dual touches of Yuuri and Viktor’s hands, overwhelmed by the pleasant waves of sensation. Their heart pounded harder and harder as Yuuri braided and pinned their hair and Viktor buffed their nails and carefully coated them with paint. Long after this night was over, Yuri knew the impressions of Viktor and Yuuri’s skin would be burned into theirs forever.

“All done,” Viktor’s voice startled Yuri out of their thoughts. He spread his palms beneath Yuri’s, lifting their hands up to the light. “What do you think?”

Yuri’s eyes widened at the sight of their gold-tipped fingers, They twisted their wrists to watch the glitter shine, envisioning the way it would enhance every sweeping gesture of their hands on the ice tomorrow.

Steeling their resolve, they locked eyes with Viktor and said, “I’m totally staying over for manicure night from now on.” 

Viktor beamed with delight.

“Thank you, kitten!” he said, pulling Yuri’s right hand to his lips and planting a kiss on their fourth finger — right where the gold band sat on Yuuri’s hand.

Yuri’s jaw dropped. _What the fuck?!_

Viktor burst into nervous giggles, cheeks flushing just as pink as Yuri’s felt.

“Wow,” he said, “sorry — habit.” 

Behind them, Yuuri let out a soft hum of amusement. 

Yuri dipped their head forward to let their bangs hide their blazing face, only to realize that all their hair was caught up in Yuuri’s style. They swallowed hard. They wanted to sink into the mattress and _die_.

“Vitya,” Yuuri’s voice cut through the tension, “do you have a mirror?”

Viktor rose from the bed and darted into the bathroom, returning with the hand mirror he kept in his makeup kit.

The reflection Yuri saw took their breath away.

“Holy _shit_ ,” they said, snatching the mirror and holding it closer. Their hair was pulled back in two Dutch braids along each side of their head, bangs swept up and pinned into the shape of a mohawk. Everything came together in a loose ponytail at the back, cascading down their neck like a waterfall and emphasizing the lines of their profile. They shot Yuuri an excited grin. “I look badass!”

“I’m glad you like it, Yurio,” he replied, face reddening.

“Now just picture this with that eyeliner you like to wear,” Viktor said, “and some lip gloss… maybe a touch of highlight on your cheeks? You’re going to blow everyone away.”

“They won’t be able to take their eyes off you,” Yuuri added.

Yuri brought their hand up next to their face, splaying their nails across their cheek. Gazing at their reflection, they could picture it clear as day. The makeup. The costume. The way they would shine on the ice when they put it all together. A pleasant warmth pooled in their stomach, driving out the last queasy dregs of the dysphoria that had plagued them all night. 

_This,_ they thought, _is exactly how I’m supposed to look._

“We tried our best,” Viktor smiled, and Yuri slapped a hand over their mouth. They _had_ to get better at not saying every damn thought that crossed their mind out loud!

Awkwardly setting the mirror down, they glanced between Yuuri and Viktor and said, “Seriously… thank you both.” 

For the second time that night, they found themself in the middle of a warm, secure embrace. They closed their eyes, wrapping their arms around Viktor and Yuuri’s waists and squeezing back just as tightly. Yuuri’s lips grazed Yuri’s jawline when he spoke.

“...Anytime.”

* * *

Yuri poked their head into the hallway, careful not to make a sound as they pulled the door shut behind them. With a cautious glance back at the door to Yakov and Lilia’s adjoining room, they swiftly took off for the elevator.

By the time Yuri had returned from Yuuri and Viktor’s room last night, it was late enough that Yakov and Lilia had fallen asleep (and thank fuck, because the last thing Yuri had wanted was to see their coach’s face). They couldn’t avoid him forever — hell, the short program was tonight, so they’d have to see him there — but for now, all they wanted was to get some breakfast in peace.

The plan was simple. They’d go down to the buffet, swipe a plate, and take it back to their room before anyone could spot them. Like their coaches. Or Viktor and Yuuri, who Yuri couldn’t face quite yet without blushing. Or even Otabek, whose friendship had felt strained and off-balance since Four Continents.

“Yuri!” a voice called as they filled their plate, and they cursed under their breath. They hadn’t counted on Phichit.

Before they knew it, they were sitting at a table (off to one side and out of sight, at least), staring into a face that looked way too chipper and alert for this hour.

“Pronouns?” Yuri asked around a mouthful of rice.

“He/him,” Phichit answered.

Yuri cracked a small smile.

“That’s good timing, right?” they said. “With the competition and everything.”

“Yeah, it totally helps,” Phichit agreed. “Are you ready for the short?”

“Ready as I’m gonna be.” Yuri nudged the sparkling gold fingertips of one hand in Phichit’s direction. “Thanks for this, by the way.”

“Ooh!” Phichit squealed, snatching up their hand. “So that’s why Yuuri borrowed it!” He shot them an approving grin. “The color looks great on you.”

Yuri smirked.

“I can’t wait to have a medal to match.”

“You’ll have to get through me first,” Phichit shot back with a challenging gleam in his eyes.

The rest of their meal was surprisingly relaxing, with the two of them comparing notes on their training over the last month and sharing pet pictures. Phichit showed Yuri some fashion inspiration photos he’d been collecting, and Yuri promised to send Phichit selfies of any new outfits they bought during the off-season. Yuri found themself having such a good time that Phichit’s next words threw them for a loop.

“Ready to hit the rink?”

 _Shit._ They’d forgotten there was one more open practice session that morning before the competition began.

They supposed they could skip it. They were more than prepared for the short program. Sure, Yakov and Lilia would kill them if they didn’t run it one last time, but —

“Yuri?” Phichit waved a hand in front of their eyes. “Are you okay?”

Yuri quietly admitted, “I’m sort of avoiding my coach right now.”

“Why?” Phichit gasped. “You do realize we’re at _Worlds_ , right?”

As the two of them slogged to the stadium, Yuri relayed everything that had happened last night. (Well, not _everything_ … there were quite a few details about their time in Viktor and Yuuri’s room that Phichit was better off not knowing.) The way Phichit reacted to their story — with shock and outrage and sympathy in all the right places — bolstered Yuri in the same way that Viktor’s manicure and Yuuri’s hair styling had. 

“So when _are_ you going to talk to Yakov?” Phichit asked, cutting his eyes to the other side of the lobby. Yakov and Lilia were there, caught up in what looked like a deeply unpleasant conversation with the young upstart choreographer from Moscow who worked with one of the Russian pairs teams. Yuri quickly turned away, avoiding Yakov’s gaze.

“Not now,” they grunted.

“But you have to practice!”

“Exactly!” Yuri huffed. “That’s what I need to focus on right now… not him.” 

Phichit laid a hand on their arm.

“Look,” he said, “you’re not going to skate your best tonight if you and your coach are fighting.” 

“We’re not _fighting_ ,” Yuri scoffed.

“Okay, ‘having a misunderstanding’ or whatever,” Phichit said. “It’s not good. I mean, Ciao Ciao and I get into all kinds of shit with each other at home… I hate his music choices, he hates my life choices — you know,” he shrugged. “But at a competition? We leave all of that behind. We’re a team. We have to be.”

Yuri sighed.

“You remember what happened in Yuuri’s first season with Viktor?” Phichit continued. “When they had that fight at the Cup of China right before the free?”

“Huh?” Yuri said, startled. They hadn’t been at that competition, but they would never forget watching it on TV. The image of Viktor kissing Yuuri on the ice, right in front of everyone, was permanently burned into their memory. Had the two of them really _fought_ only minutes before?

“Yuuri lost the gold,” Phichit said. “To me. So if you don’t want the same thing to happen to you…” 

“Okay, okay,” Yuri groaned. “I’ll talk to Yakov before tonight.”

Phichit’s face grew serious.

“Let me know if you need backup,” he said, patting their shoulder.

Yuri’s chest lurched at the unexpected gesture of support.

“...Thanks.” 

* * *

_Can I come get ready in your room?_ Yuri typed, pressing send before they could think about it too much.

It didn’t take Viktor long to respond.

 _Sure!_ _Come on up after practice._ A few seconds later, another message came through. _Why aren’t you here at the rink?_

 _I finished already,_ Yuri replied. 

They’d taken the ice while Yakov and Lilia were still distracted in the lobby. With a quick run-through and a few reinforcing jumping passes, Yuri had managed to get in and out of the arena quickly enough to avoid their coaches. 

They reluctantly switched from Viktor’s text thread to Yakov’s. There were at least twenty angry messages, all some variation of _where are you?_ and _when are you coming to the rink?_ Rolling their eyes, Yuri dug up some fancam footage of their practice session that had already made it to YouTube — their Angels could be obnoxious, but they were lifesavers — and sent Yakov the link. 

Apparently that only made things worse, judging by the influx of new messages demanding an explanation. When Yuri finally got a text from Viktor that said _We’re back,_ they silenced their phone. They would deal with Yakov properly later.

“How are you?” Yuuri asked, pulling Yuri into a hug as soon as they walked through the door. “Still doing okay?”

Yuri nodded, face warm. 

“Yakov is worried about you,” Viktor said from across the room, where he was transforming the desk into a makeshift vanity complete with a mirror and makeup kit. “He won’t stop texting.” As if on cue, his phone vibrated.

“Oh jeez,” Yuri grumbled, “he’s blowing up your phone, too?”

“You didn’t talk to him when you got back last night?” Yuuri asked, alarmed.

“It was late,” Yuri shrugged. “And there was no time this morning. I’ll do it when we’re finished here.”

“You’d better,” Viktor said as his phone vibrated yet again. “I can’t take this much longer.” He pulled out one of the chairs at the vanity for Yuri. “Now come on, let’s get you looking fabulous!”

“Give me a second to get changed,” Yuri said, slipping into the bathroom with their costume. 

Something felt different about putting it on this time, knowing how their hair and makeup and nails would enhance it. They closed their eyes and smiled as they slid their arms through the sleeves, enjoying the way the silky fabric glided along their skin and molded to their body when they pulled up the zipper.

Viktor and Yuuri got to work as soon as they emerged, Yuuri standing behind them to recreate last night’s hairstyle while Viktor dusted powder over their cheeks and deftly lined their eyes. Yuri kept their gaze unfocused, refusing to let Yuuri and Viktor’s proximity and touch affect them today. Now was _not_ the time to get distracted.

As Yuuri tucked the final pins into their hair and Viktor uncapped a tube of lip gloss, a loud banging noise made all three of them jump.

“Yuri!” Yakov’s voice shouted from the hallway. “Are you in there?”

Yuuri and Viktor exchanged a glance, then looked at Yuri.

“Do you want us to let him in?” Yuuri asked.

Yuri let out a long sigh. They’d been hoping to put this moment off a bit longer, but what else could they do?

“May as well.”

As Yuuri went to open the door, Yuri turned back to Viktor, parting their lips so he could apply the gloss. 

“Coach Feltsman,” they heard Yuuri say, and they couldn’t help but exchange a little smile with Viktor at that. This was Yuuri’s third season training at Yubileyny and he still hadn’t worked up the nerve to call Yakov by his given name. It was kind of adorable. “Don’t worry,” Yuuri continued, “Yurio’s here. We were just helping them get ready for the competition.”

Yuri didn’t miss Yakov’s quiet gasp.

“Them?” he repeated. “You… you know about Yuri?”

Yuri stood up, finally turning to face their coach.

“Yes,” they answered, heart racing.

For several painfully drawn-out moments, Yuri and Yakov stared at each other from opposite sides of the room. Then Yakov took a cautious step forward.

“Yura,” he said, “I owe you an apology for last night. After you left, Lilia and I had a long talk, and you were both right. I didn’t handle things the way I should have.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “...I failed you as a coach.” 

Yuri gazed down at the floor. They’d never heard Yakov say anything so humble before. They knew exactly how to respond to his harsh lectures and tough critiques, but they didn’t know what to do with something like _this_. 

They settled on, “I know you didn’t do it on purpose.” 

“That’s not the point,” Yakov said. “I screwed up in a way that could have had major consequences, and I’m sorry.” 

Yuri swallowed.

“Thank you.” 

“You know,” Yakov added, “I think of my skaters like family. Especially you and Vitya… I’ve invested everything in your success just like I would have for my own children.” 

Yuri shot a glance at Viktor, eyes wide. 

“…But that doesn’t mean I’ve always made the right decisions,” Yakov continued, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I think I make some mistakes because I’m _too_ close. Sometimes I forget that, at the end of the day, coaching is a business relationship.” 

“Bullshit,” Yuri said. “You know it goes deeper than that.”

Yakov shook his head.

“A real coach would have focused on your skating,” he said, “instead of trying to manage the rest of your career.” His mouth tightened into a thin line. “I should have set you up with a financial adviser to help you deal with sponsors, a publicist to help you talk to the press… whatever else you needed. But I didn’t trust anyone else with you, so I did it all myself. And last night it backfired.”

He took another step closer, clasping Yuri’s arm.

“I went into that dinner with the wrong priorities. I didn’t put your needs first. And I want to make sure that never happens again. So…” he drew in a deep breath, “if that means you’d rather find a different coach — ” 

“No,” Yuri cut him off. “I don’t want another coach.”

“Maybe it’s for the best,” Yakov said, face pinched. “You might be better off with someone who understands this gender stuff better than I do.”

“You can learn,” Yuri said pointedly. “Lilia did.”

Yakov let out a sheepish sigh.

“You’re right.”

Yuri reached out to pat Yakov’s arm, the gesture a mirror image of the way he was still gripping theirs. “You’ve already come a long way.”

Without warning, Yakov pulled them into a forceful hug. Yuri stumbled into him, startled. Yakov had embraced them in the kiss and cry at every competition, but they could count the number of times he’d hugged them outside the rink on one hand. Their arms hovered uncertainly for a moment before landing on his shoulders.

When Yakov pulled back, Yuri blurted out the first thought that popped into their mind — and the last thing they’d ever imagined they would say.

“Before next season, I want to come out.”

Yuuri and Viktor let out sharp gasps in unison.

“Do you mean to the Federation?” Viktor asked. “Or the ISU?”

“I mean to everyone,” Yuri said. 

Viktor’s jaw dropped.

“ _Wow._ ”

“Yurio,” Yuuri said, eyes shining with awe. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” Yuri answered, voice surprisingly steady. “My dysphoria is getting so bad that I can barely make it through a competition. I mean, the Grand Prix Final and Europeans were hell and I _won_. But what’s the point of medals when you’re living a lie every time you skate?” They huffed in frustration. “I know just talking about it scared the shit out of me a few months ago, but… I can’t do this anymore. It’s finally time.”

Yakov reached forward, grasping Yuri’s wrists the same way he did at the boards before every skate. 

“It won’t be an easy journey,” he said. “But I think you know that already. And if it’s what you need to do, I’ll support you every step of the way.”

Yuri gulped and nodded.

“It looks like you’ve already made a good start,” Yakov added, “with this new hair and makeup.”

Yuri let out a breath of relieved laughter.

“Don’t forget these,” they said, waving their golden nails in front of Yakov’s face.

Yakov cocked his head to the side, studying their styling for a moment before grunting his approval.

“I like it,” he said. “It suits you.”

“You’re not going to yell at me about changing up my look at the last minute?” Yuri teased.

“Not when it’s a change for the better,” Yakov said. His eyes grew serious. “You look like a champion.” 

“I feel like one,” Yuri said.

“Good.” Yakov clapped a hand on their back, steering them toward the door. “Then let’s go get your gold.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Description (from the warning):** The night before the short program, Yuri attends a business dinner with a potential sponsor, who calls them the wrong pronouns and honorifics frequently throughout the evening. This causes intense dysphoria, and Yuri is unable to address it during dinner because they are still closeted. When they try to explain the problem to Yakov and Lilia afterward, Yakov does not understand, and accidentally misgenders Yuri as well when the two of them argue. Although Yakov immediately apologizes for his slip-up and is supportive of Yuri, his reaction makes Yuri's dysphoria worse. They run away to Yuuri and Viktor's hotel room.  
> 
> 
> Well that was a doozy of a chapter to write! I hope you enjoyed it even though it was an emotional rollercoaster. 
> 
> Fun facts: I picture Yuri's manicure looking like [this](https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KOKxDh3s2Fs/Wm97Fqvd1sI/AAAAAAAATl8/qAlRWi9zrVM5gpN6Rd81vIUrk1Jwo6INwCLcBGAs/s1600/kbshimmer_one_night_sand_2.JPG) and their hairstyle looking like [this](https://menhairstylist.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/three-braids-viking-hairstyles-e1530702228816.jpg). 
> 
> Next up is the actual competition! Who will become the World Champion? Will Yuuri follow through on his plan to retire? Will our favorite trio keep pining for each other at even more ridiculous levels? XD All that & more is coming next week. In the meantime, feel free to check out my other [YOI fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTrashiverse/works?fandom_id=11444638) and my [fandom Twitter](https://twitter.com/TheTrashiverse) (18+/NSFW).
> 
> As always, many thanks to my fabulous beta [Darth_Claire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darth_Claire).
> 
> And that's it for now! Thanks so much for reading, & I'd love to hear what you thought! :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is: the last chapter! (Of this fic, anyway... this is part one of a trilogy, so there will be two more fics in the series.) 
> 
> Chapter-specific warnings include: unintentional misgendering by strangers, accidental misgendering by a friend, resulting dysphoria (it's mild compared to the previous chapter)
> 
> And now it's time to hop on the feels train as we wrap up the season with the World Championships! Who's it going to be for the gold?

* * *

**_March 2019, World Championships, Saitama_ **

**  
** Yuri collapsed to their knees, fighting for breath as the roar of the crowd washed over them. They couldn’t remember the last time they’d felt this way at a competition. So excited to take the ice, so impassioned during their performance… so satisfied at the end.

With their new look, they’d found themself skating with a confidence that had been missing for longer than they’d realized. They rode the high as they took their bows and headed for the boards amid a sea of flowers and cat-shaped plushies. 

They barely registered Yakov and Lilia greeting them with brief hugs before another familiar pair of arms wrapped around them from behind.

“You were incredible, kitten,” Viktor murmured into their ear.

Yuri’s face heated.

“Shouldn’t you be concentrating on Katsudon right now?”

Viktor glanced at the ice, where Yuuri was taking a few laps before his own skate.

“Not until he comes back for our pep talk,” Viktor said. He bent down further to kiss Yuri’s cheek. “I mean it, that was brilliant — and I’m sure your score will be too.”

Yuri’s chest lurched at the gesture of affection, making them stumble on the way to the kiss and cry.

Yakov was oddly quiet, crossing his arms and watching the replay with barely more than a grunt of acknowledgement. Normally he’d be critiquing Yuri’s skate down to the last detail, even the ones the judges might miss. 

_What’s his deal?_ Yuri wondered. _Is he still feeling guilty about last night? Is this some weird new coaching tactic?_ They shrugged. Maybe their skating had just been that good. (It had certainly felt that way, and they hadn’t made any obvious mistakes…) 

When the announcer finally called for Yuri’s score, the number that flashed on the board made all the blood drain from their face.

102.74. Good enough for first place — and the crowd agreed, screaming their approval — but more than ten points below their season’s best, and well under their personal. They blinked in panic, trying to make sure they’d read the numbers right. 

A score like that wouldn’t hold.

Lilia gave a sharp nod and patted their knee, and Yakov’s hand landed on their back, heavy and comforting.

“That’s good,” he rumbled.

Yuri stared at him.

“Good?” they spluttered. “Are you _kidding_ me? That’s the lowest score I’ve gotten all season! But it felt like my best skate ever, so… what gives?”

Yakov hesitated, exchanging a glance with Lilia. Then his eyes sharpened into a familiar glare.

“Your axel was over-rotated,” he said bluntly, and ah, _there_ was the Yakov that Yuri knew and loved. “You went into it with so much speed I thought you were going to land on your face. I don’t know how you landed that quad sal, either, as tilted as you were in the air. And your free leg looked like shit — on _all_ of your jumps. You traveled about a mile at the end of that combination spin, and…” 

“Okay, okay,” Yuri groaned. Their gaze dropped to their lap, where their gold nail polish glittered against the dark fabric of their pants. 

Was _that_ the problem? Had they been so focused on their new look that they hadn’t concentrated enough on their form? 

“I might have been a little… overexcited out there,” they admitted.

“Overexcited?” Yakov scoffed. “Sloppy is more like it.”

“Hey! I still skated clean!” 

“Clean but not refined,” Yakov said, “and the judges dinged your grades of execution for it.” He shook his head. “At least they didn’t downgrade your component scores too.” 

Yuri crossed their arms, huffing in frustration.

“Don’t worry,” Lilia reassured them. “It’s still a good score.”

Yuri swallowed as they looked back out at the ice, where Yuuri was now taking his starting pose.

_What if it’s not good enough?_

* * *

“Otabek Altin has earned a short program score of 110.85, which is a new season’s best,” the announcer’s voice blasted through the TV speaker. “He is currently in second place.”

Yuri buried their face in their arms. They should be happy for Beka. He’d skated tremendously. And he was their best friend, for fuck’s sake. But right now all they could think about was how he’d just pushed them down into fourth place.

_Fourth. Shit._

Their chest caved in, giving way to dry sobs.

Thank _fuck_ the locker room was empty. All the other skaters from their group were either hanging out in the green room or chatting with the press rinkside. Yuri had only made it through three brief interviews before the dysphoria had started to seep in, setting their nerves on edge and making it hard to think. After last night’s fiasco, Yakov and Lilia were quick to pull them away from the reporters, ushering them backstage to watch the rest of the short program on a tucked-away monitor in the locker room lounge. 

With no cameras or other people around, Yuri hadn’t bothered to keep their rising panic in check as they’d watched the rest of their group compete. 

First Yuuri threw down the gauntlet with a staggering 115.08, earning a personal best and striking too close to Yuri’s own short program world record for comfort. Then Phichit dazzled the crowd and the judges in equal measure, scoring an impressive 108.95. Fortunately, Yuri’s score held through Seung-gil and JJ’s routines — they would’ve lost their shit if that Canadian asshole beat them too — but Otabek’s skate pushed them just out of the top three spots heading into the free.

God, they were _so screwed_.

The clack of skate-guarded footsteps just outside the door made them jump. They took a few calming breaths and a deep swig from their water bottle to hide the fact that they’d been crying before the approaching skater walked in.

“Hey, Yuri,” Otabek greeted them. “I see you escaped too.”

Yuri’s shoulders relaxed a little. Things were still kind of weird with Beka after Four Continents, but if anyone was going to interrupt them, they’d rather it be him. 

“Yeah,” they said, “my coaches let me off easy today.”

“Lucky. I had to get away on my own.” Otabek slumped onto the bench next to Yuri, toweling off his forehead. “Your skate was really good, by the way.”

“Yours too,” Yuri responded automatically, ignoring the way the words caught like thorns under their skin. 

“What are you doing after this?” Otabek asked.

“Um… sleeping?” Yuri blinked at him. “It’s almost 11 p.m.”

“You wouldn’t want to join me for a late-night snack first?”

Guilt seeped into Yuri’s stomach at the earnest sparkle in Otabek’s eyes. They knew they couldn’t avoid having the dreaded talk with him sometime during this competition, but that was the last thing they were prepared to do right now.

“Can I take a rain check?” they said, hunching down into their jacket. “At least until after the free.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Otabek agreed. His lips quirked up slightly. “So dinner before the banquet on Saturday. Got it.”

Yuri snorted.

“I thought the banquet _was_ dinner.”

“Fresh local ramen or shitty hotel food?” Otabek shrugged. “Take your pick.” 

Yuri plastered on a smile over their nerves and dread, reaching out to give him their customary fist bump.

“Ramen sounds good to —”

“Yurio!” 

Yuri jerked their hand back, turning to meet Yuuri’s eyes as he and Viktor walked through the door. 

“Your skate was so beautiful!” Yuuri beamed, pulling Yuri into a tight hug.

Absolutely refusing to think about Yuuri’s score, they replied, “So was yours.”

“I’m sorry I missed yours, Otabek,” Yuuri added. “I was still doing press. But I could hear how much everyone loved it.”

“Thanks,” Otabek answered, “and congratulations.”

“That’s right,” Viktor said with an obnoxiously proud grin, squeezing Yuuri’s shoulders. “He’s the one you’ll all have to beat on Saturday!”

“Viktor,” Yuuri chided gently, cheeks flushing.

“Challenge accepted,” Yuri fired back. “Right, Beka?”

Otabek gave a resolute nod.

“So,” Viktor said, questioning eyes shifting back and forth between Yuri and Otabek. “Are you two… busy? Or are you coming back to the hotel with us?”

Yuri nearly choked. What the hell did Viktor think they were ‘busy’ doing with Otabek? They jumped off the bench, determined not to give the wrong impression.

“Of course I’m coming back,” they scoffed, “it’s late.”

The walk to the hotel was uncomfortable and lasted way too long. Yuri stayed a few steps behind everyone else, shoving their hands in their pockets and making themself as invisible as possible. Something about being in the presence of Otabek, Viktor, and Yuuri at the same time set Yuri’s teeth on edge, even though the four of them had hung out dozens of times when Otabek visited Saint Petersburg during the off-season.

_Well you didn’t have these stupid feelings for Yuuri and Viktor then,_ Yuri reminded themself, _and Beka didn’t maybe-or-maybe-not have feelings for you._

The tension only grew worse when they all piled into the elevator, forcing Yuri to stand closer to the others than they wanted. Somehow they ended up sandwiched between Viktor and Yuuri along the back wall. Unlike last night, the heat from their bodies felt more oppressive than comforting.

Viktor cleared his throat into the silence.

“Do you want to come up for tea with us, Yura?” 

“He can’t,” Otabek broke in before Yuri could respond, “he wants to focus on the free.”

Yuri winced — both at the wrong pronoun and the sudden presumption — then blinked in surprise when Yuuri spoke.

“They,” he reminded Otabek with a gentle nudge of his elbow.

“Sorry, they,” Otabek repeated, the tips of his ears growing pink. He turned to Yuri sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“You just need more practice,” Yuri replied automatically. They kept their tone casual, but their voice came out rough and tight. 

The elevator dinged for Otabek’s floor.

“Well,” he said awkwardly, “have a good night,” then disappeared into the hallway.

Yuri groaned, burying their face in their hands as soon as the door slid closed.

“Are you okay?” Yuuri asked, wrapping his arm around their shoulders. 

_It’s not the first time I’ve been called that today,_ Yuri thought, but that didn’t fully encompass the way they felt right then. Armed with their makeover and an overwhelming sense of pride, they’d mostly been able to tune out the slog of misgendering during the competition. But the dysphoria that had started trickling in during the interviews after their skate was now flooding through them, leaving their stomach queasy and cold. No matter how many times they’d been called the wrong pronouns by the stadium announcer, rink officials, and reporters, it hit them in a whole different way coming from their best friend. 

They didn’t trust themself to say any of that out loud — or even speak at all, with the way Yuuri’s touch was making them shiver — so they just shrugged.

Viktor’s hand joined Yuuri’s, softly stroking up and down their back.

“Are you sure you don’t want that tea?”

A few minutes later, with a warm mug of matcha in their hands and a stack of fluffy hotel pillows cushioning their head, Yuri was finally able to unwind. The pressure, the dysphoria, the tension, the scores… all of it slowly melted away as Yuri sank down into Yuuri and Viktor’s bed. They closed their eyes, inhaling the tea’s calming fragrance with every sip.

“So,” Yuuri asked, climbing in next to Yuri, “why did Otabek say you couldn’t come hang out with us?”

Yuri huffed out a sigh.

“He wanted to go get food. I told him not until after the free.”

“Oh,” Yuuri said.

“Which was a mistake,” Yuri added, “because now if I want to eat with you two after practice tomorrow, we have to get takeout or something in case Beka sees me.”

They clamped their mouth shut. _What the fuck are you doing?_ _What makes you think Yuuri and Viktor even want to have dinner with you? Idiot!_

“Yurio…” Yuuri looked away, picking at the bedcovers. “You don’t have to eat with us, you know? If you’d rather eat with Otabek — ”

“No,” Yuri cut him off. They took a big gulp of tea to slow down their stupid mouth, but couldn’t help admitting, “...I’m not ready for that.”

“You still haven’t talked to him, then?” Viktor asked from the bathroom doorway. Wrapped in one of the hotel’s robes and combing his damp bangs, he strode over to the bed, shuffling in on Yuri’s other side. 

“What do you think?” Yuri growled, shoving their empty teacup at him.

“Yura, it’s been over a month!” Viktor exclaimed.

“And we’ve both been getting ready for this competition,” Yuri shot back. “When were we supposed to talk?” They crossed their arms. “Besides, this is the kind of thing you do in person, not on FaceTime.” 

“Hmm,” Viktor conceded, tilting his head. “Just as long as you don’t ignore him like you did with Yakov today — ”

“Viktor. Please.” Yuri curled into themself, drawing their legs up and letting their head slump against their knees. “I’m not ignoring anybody.” _Not on purpose, anyway._ “I’m just trying to make it to the end of the free skate in one piece.” 

“Okay,” Viktor murmured. 

He reached for Yuri’s hand, sandwiching it between his own and squeezing it in a silent apology. Yuuri took their other hand, slotting their fingers together. Drawing a shaky breath, Yuri gripped back tightly. 

“I’m having dinner with Beka before the banquet,” they said. “I’ll talk to him then. And — ” Their next words caught in their throat, held fast by their fear. “...However it goes, I hope I don’t come home without a best friend.”

“You won’t,” Yuuri said, and Yuri’s mind flashed back to the Four Continents banquet, where Viktor had made the same promise as he held Yuri in his arms on the dance floor. _You have me too_ — _and Yuuri. No matter what else happens._

Yuri bit their lip. Would Viktor and Yuuri still say that if they knew how Yuri really felt? 

_Don’t think that way._ _One thing at a time, remember? You don’t need to worry about your damn crushes right now. Not when you still have a gold medal to win._

Yuri reluctantly let go of Yuuri and Viktor’s hands.

“Thanks for the tea,” they muttered as they rose from the bed, “and, you know… everything else.” 

“Of course,” Yuuri smiled softly.

“See you at practice in the morning?” Viktor asked.

Yuri’s eyes sharpened into a determined gleam.

“Bright and early.” 

Tomorrow might be the most important practice day of their career, and they had every intention of using it to claw their way back to the top.

* * *

“The scores, please,” the announcer said, silencing the cheers of the crowd. Yuri held their breath, fingers clenched into fists against their knees.

They’d just thrown down what was undoubtedly the best free skate of their life. Those four and a half minutes on the ice had felt surreal — like they were floating just outside their body, where they could push and pull and twist themself wherever they needed to go. They didn’t even remember adding extra toeloops onto three of their jumping passes, racking up considerably more points than they’d planned, until they reviewed their footage with Yakov and Lilia in the kiss and cry. 

“It’ll be a season’s best,” Lilia said with a satisfied nod while Yakov patted Yuri’s back. They all gazed at the scoreboard as the stadium vibrated with anticipatory silence, awaiting the moment of truth.

“Yuri Plisetsky has earned a free skate score of 223.18 points,” the announcer said, “which is a new season’s best and a world record!” 

Yuri nearly collapsed out of their seat.

The audience roared around them, and even the announcer’s voice grew more enthusiastic while reading the combined score of 325.92 that ranked Yuri solidly in first place. Yakov and Lilia could barely contain their excitement, tackling Yuri in a fierce embrace. Yuri hugged them both back, still shaking in disbelief, and let themself be pulled up to wave to their screaming fans.

“That score will land you on the podium for sure,” Yakov said as the three of them headed back to the locker room. 

“Probably at the top of it,” Lilia agreed, eyes sparkling.

Yuri swallowed.

“I hope so.” 

During yesterday’s practice session, the realization had finally hit: _Katsudon is retiring_. It cast an ominous pall over every moment Yuri spent in Yuuri’s presence, right up to the beginning of the free skate today. 

Was this the last time the two of them would ever train together? The last time they would share a mirror as they got into their costumes and makeup? The last time they would walk into the stadium side by side, warm up on the same ice, and watch each other perform? 

_Not if I can fucking help it,_ Yuri promised themself.

So they’d poured everything they had into their final practice, knowing they needed to be better than perfect if there was even a chance of beating Yuuri… and changing his mind.

“Normally I don’t want you adding jumps like that,” Yakov was saying, “but you did what you had to do to make up for the short — ” 

“Mr. Plisetsky!” a voice interrupted. “An interview, please?”

Yuri grimaced, and their reaction didn’t escape Lilia or Yakov’s notice. They both shot Yuri a look that asked, _Are you up for it?_

Yuri shrugged as if to say, _What does it matter now that I’m done skating?_ Yes, the dysphoria would suck — but they’d known it was coming, and at least now it couldn’t affect their performance.

Yuri gave rinkside interviews on autopilot for the next few minutes, keeping one ear trained on the competition in the background the whole time. Their chest surged with relief when they learned they were still in first place after both Phichit and Otabek had skated. When the announcer called Yuuri’s name, they wrapped things up with the reporters and excused themself, hurrying back over to the boards. 

Ignoring the curious gazes of the press, the rink officials, and their coaches, Yuri stood next to Viktor, who was watching Yuuri take his starting pose. 

Wordlessly, Viktor reached for Yuri’s hand, the metal of his ring chilling their skin as he slotted their fingers together. The two of them exchanged a brief, intense glance, then their eyes locked back onto Yuuri. 

_This is it._

The music started before Yuri was ready for it — if this really was Yuuri’s last performance, they wanted to savor every second. But he was already sweeping into his opening choreography and gearing up for his first jump. Viktor’s hand tightened around Yuri’s as he watched Yuuri rotate four times in the air, then relaxed again when he landed.

With every jump, step, and spin, Yuri and Viktor held their breath and squeezed each other’s hands, sharing the mix of fear and joy that accompanied each move. But Yuuri gave them no reason to feel so tense. He was executing his program flawlessly, better than he’d performed all season. His face betrayed no trace of nerves, lost in the story of the song even as he glided into position for his big combination jumping pass. 

Yuri’s jaw clenched. The difference between their scores would all come down to this.

_Quad lutz. Triple toeloop. Triple toeloop._ By the end of the third jump, Yuuri’s landing leg was visibly shaking, but his blade touched the ice with a precision that even the strictest judge couldn’t deny. 

Yuri’s heart soared and sank at the same time. _He finally did it._

After that, the rest of Yuuri’s program flew by. Yuri clung onto each moment just as firmly as they were clinging onto Viktor’s hand, willing time to slow down. But before they knew it, Yuuri was dipping into his final pose. Yuri didn’t need to see the score to know it was a gold medal-winning performance.

Viktor dragged them into the kiss and cry anyway. 

“Yurio,” Yuuri said between panting breaths, squeezing their knee, “congratulations on your world record!” 

“Thanks.” Yuri gestured at the screen in front of them, which was replaying the most impressive elements of Yuuri’s skate. “Congratulations on… all of that.” 

“You were magnificent!” Viktor beamed, kissing Yuuri’s temple. “And you even got that quad lutz combo!” 

“I almost couldn’t do that last toeloop,” Yuuri said sheepishly. “I thought my leg was going to give out. I know I’m going to lose some GOE…” 

“Not much,” Viktor said. “You’ll still get enough points.” 

“I don’t know,” Yuuri said, eyes flickering over to Yuri again. “With Yurio’s score, it’s going to be close.”

_I wish,_ Yuri thought, throat closing. 

After a torturously long deliberation, the announcer called for the scores. Yuri, Viktor, and Yuuri leaned forward, holding onto each other as they awaited the result.

“Yuuri Katsuki has earned a free skate score of 218.95 points,” the announcer said. “His total competition score is 334.03 points, and he is currently in first place and the World Champion!” 

For the first few seconds — as Yuuri gasped at his score, and Viktor threw his arms around him with an ecstatic cry, and the audience took in the medal standings — Yuri closed their eyes. 

_I failed,_ they admitted to themself, tears pricking behind their lids. _I gave it all I had, I even got a world record, and I still wasn’t good enough. I couldn’t stop him from winning, and now…_

Then Viktor hauled them out of their thoughts and into an embrace with Yuuri. Squeezing Yuuri’s waist, Yuri tried to convey with their gaze all the things they couldn’t say around the lump in their throat. 

_You deserve this_.

_How dare you._

_Please don’t leave._

The next thing they knew, a rink official was awkwardly breaking up the group hug, ushering Yuri to line up for the medal ceremony while preparing the kiss and cry for Yuuri’s winner’s interview.

The ceremony, photos, and victory lap passed in a blur. It wasn’t until Yuri was in the locker room afterward, changing out of their costume and into their tracksuit for the medalists’ press conference, that they finally had a chance to catch Yuuri alone.

They fumbled for his hand, gripping it tightly and locking onto his gaze.

“Please,” they whispered shakily. “Please don’t do it.” 

Behind his glasses, Yuuri’s eyes grew shiny and wet.

“...Oh, Yurio.” 

He folded his arms around them, pulling them close. Their head fell forward to rest against his shoulder as they wound their arms around his waist. When they felt a sob ripple through him, they could no longer hold back their own tears.

For the next few minutes, the two of them stood there holding each other tight as they mourned the end of the rivalry that had made them both stronger for years.

“Come on,” Yuri begged, “one more season. Or even just one more Grand Prix. Don’t you want to break my world record?” 

A bittersweet smile crept into Yuuri’s voice as he answered, “I couldn’t break it if I tried.” He pulled back, meeting Yuri’s gaze. “I want to see _you_ break it, again and again. You hold the world records now in the short and the free… I may be the champion, but you are the future.”

Yuri’s eyes stung with a fresh wave of tears. They tucked their face against Yuuri’s neck, shoulders heaving with every breath. Their mind flashed back to their first senior Grand Prix Final in Barcelona, where they’d cried just like this on the ice after the same desperate attempt to keep Yuuri from leaving the sport. Now their chest ached with the knowledge that this time, there was nothing they could do to make him stay.

A quiet cough caught their attention, and Yuri glanced up to see Otabek, who had ended up taking the bronze, standing next to them. Glancing between Yuri and Yuuri with a curious expression, he said, “The press conference is about to start.” 

“Thank you, Otabek,” Yuuri said, “we’ll be right there.” He cupped Yuri’s face, thumbs brushing softly under their eyes. “Your makeup’s running everywhere.” 

“Fucking great,” Yuri grumbled. Reluctantly leaving Yuuri’s embrace, they went to the mirror to dab at their smeared eyeliner with a damp paper towel. _Viktor’s going to kill me when he sees what a mess I made of his work_. 

As they walked into the press conference, Yuri hardened their expression into a mask of steel. The last thing they wanted to do was let all the cameras and microphones capture what they were feeling and broadcast it to the world. They’d had plenty of practice hiding their emotions in public, but they’d never had to hold back anything like their despair at Yuuri’s retirement. 

The moment Yuuri announced his plans, it would all become too _real_.

Fortunately, he got it out of the way quickly. When an eager reporter asked him, “How does it feel to defend your World title in your home country?” he took a deep breath and responded, “I want to thank everyone here in Japan for supporting me all these years, and… and for making my last competition so special.” 

The room exploded. By the time the moderator calmed down the frenzy, begging, “One at a time, please,” Yuri’s white-knuckled grip on the table had loosened and they’d blinked back the wetness in their eyes.

For the next fifteen minutes, everyone was focused on Yuuri. The journalists all wanted to know when and why he’d decided to retire, and how did it feel, and what were his plans going forward. Yuri and Otabek didn’t have to answer a single question, seemingly forgotten in the wake of Yuuri’s announcement.

Finally, a question came that caught Yuri’s attention. 

“Katsuki-san, skating fans have enjoyed your rivalry with Yuri Plisetsky for several seasons. What has that rivalry meant to you, and are you satisfied with the way you’re leaving it?” 

Yuuri turned to look at Yuri, the affection in his warm brown eyes sending a pang through their chest. His throat bobbed as he leaned toward the microphone.

“Yuri is amazing,” he said. “We’ve been skating together since 2015, we’ve trained at the same rink, we’ve competed at all the major international events… and it’s been an honor. I couldn’t have asked for a better rival.” 

Yuri’s heart seized. 

“We pushed each other to be better skaters every day, and I’m so happy with the programs that came out of it,” Yuuri continued. He reached across the table and laid his hand on top of Yuri’s. “Thank you so much for challenging me and helping me grow,” he told them earnestly. “I think that’s what I’m going to miss the most.” 

Yuri bit the inside of their cheek hard enough to draw blood, but it didn’t prevent tears from gathering in their eyes once again.

“But I’m excited too,” Yuuri added, managing a smile through his choked voice. “Because without me competing, we can stop being rivals and just enjoy being friends from now on.” 

The tears finally escaped, flooding down Yuri’s face. Yuri hastily swiped at their cheeks, though they knew it was too late to hide what was happening from the cameras. 

But how could they have reacted in any other way? Not only had Yuuri given them the most incredible praise — which was not helping with their ridiculous crush _at all_ — but he’d somehow avoided using pronouns the whole time, neither outing nor misgendering them to the press, in a way that sounded completely natural. 

_Fuck,_ he was so much better than Yuri could ever deserve.

Before they could recover, the same reporter asked, “Plisetsky-san, what about you? What are you going to miss the most about competing against Katsuki-san?” 

Yuri buried their face in their sleeve. How could they even _begin_ to answer that, after everything Yuuri had just said about them?

“Well first of all,” they started, raising their head and blurting out the first thing that came to mind, “thanks for making me cry, you jerk.” Their eyes met Yuuri’s, which sparkled with amusement as he squeezed their hand. 

Turning back to the twittering crowd of reporters, Yuri gulped and said, “When I first met Yuuri, I told him our division didn’t need two skaters with the same name, so he should just retire.” More laughter filled the room. “I didn’t really mean it,” Yuri clarified, “I just wanted him to skate better so I could have a real challenge when I got to seniors. And that’s exactly what he did.”

They dared to squeeze Yuuri’s hand back.

“Every time I beat him, I felt like I actually earned that medal, because he made me work for it. And now…” They broke off, throat closing. “Now I wish I’d never told you to retire,” they sniffed, glancing back at Yuuri, “because this sport’s not going to be the same without you.” 

A tear slipped down Yuuri’s cheek then, and he ducked his head.

“Thank you, Yurio,” he whispered, voice so faint that the microphones couldn’t pick it up.

Yuri nodded stiffly. Realizing they would never win their battle for control if they kept looking at Yuuri’s face, they turned their attention to Otabek instead.

“Beka,” they said, “you’d better train extra hard for next season… because I’m going to need another rival with Yuuri gone.” 

“You’ve got it,” Otabek promised.

He caught up with Yuri in the locker room a couple of hours later, when all the press conferences and interviews for their event were finally over. Tugging on their sleeve, he asked, “Ready for that ramen now?”

Yuri glanced over at Yuuri, who was in the corner sharing an embrace with Viktor. Pain sliced through Yuri’s gut at the way the two of them pressed their foreheads together, speaking in low, hushed voices. Yuri had tried to talk to Yuuri after the first press conference, to thank him for everything he’d said, but things had been much too hectic, and now… 

Well, they could tell when they weren’t needed. 

_And why would Yuuri need you, anyway?_ they reminded themself bitterly. _He’s got his fiancé. And you’ve got some shit to clear up with your best friend._

Looking back at Otabek, they tilted their head toward the door.

“Yeah,” they said, resigned, “let’s go.” 

* * *

“ _Itadakimasu!_ ” Yuri and Otabek locked eyes over their bowls before reaching for their chopsticks and slurping up mouthfuls of hot, savory noodles. 

Yuri’s smile felt forced and tight. The warmth of the ramen settling in their belly was soothing, but did little to temper their nerves. They hadn’t had a chance to think about this dinner with Otabek since the night of the short program, and now that it was actually happening? They were kind of scared shitless.

“What are your plans for the off-season?” Otabek asked. 

“You know,” Yuri said, trying to keep their tone light even though their stomach lurched, “the usual. A week in Hasetsu to see Katsudon’s family… a week in Moscow to see Dedushka… a week in Almaty to see you.” Their fingers clenched around their chopsticks. “When did you want to do that, by the way? And your week in Saint Petersburg?”

Since they’d first become friends, Yuri and Otabek had set aside two weeks every summer to visit. By framing it as an “exchange program” and promising to spend most of their time training at each other’s rinks, they’d managed to clear it with their coaches. It was usually the part of the off-season Yuri looked forward to the most. This time, the thought of it sent cold dread shooting through their veins. 

Otabek cleared his throat.

“About that…” The way the tips of his ears turned pink set off alarm bells in Yuri’s head. “I was wondering if you wanted to stay and train with me for more than a week,” he said. “Maybe… for the whole summer?” 

Yuri choked on their ramen. 

“The _whole summer_?” they spluttered. “No fucking way! Yakov and Lilia would kill me.”

“Well then… maybe I could stay in Saint Petersburg instead,” Otabek suggested. “My coach would be glad to ship me off to Yubileyny for a few months — ” 

“Beka,” Yuri cut him off. 

They set down their chopsticks before they could accidentally snap them in half, gripping their napkin instead. Their jaw twitched, but no sound came out. What the hell were they supposed to _say_ to that?

_You know what,_ they thought. 

Inhaling shakily, they asked, “Where is this coming from? Why do you want to spend the whole summer together? Is it because…” they gulped, “is it because you like me?” 

Otabek hesitated for a long moment before answering, “I don’t know.” 

Yuri’s brow furrowed.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I’ve never liked anyone before,” Otabek confessed with a helpless shrug. “I’m not exactly sure how it’s supposed to feel. But the way I feel about you is — ” he paused, measuring his words carefully, “it’s different from the way I feel about my other friends. I can’t tell if I like you _that_ way, but… you could say the potential is there.” He let out a breath. “So I thought if we spent more time together, maybe I could figure it out.”

Yuri stared down at their ramen bowl. They didn’t know how to force out the truth they needed to tell. How to hurt their best friend.

“Beka,” they muttered, fumbling for words. “Let me go ahead and save you the trouble.” _Fuck, that was way too harsh._ _Better try again._ “I’m pretty sure I’m gay,” they explained. “For other enbies. I mean… I’m not into guys.” They twisted the napkin in their lap. “I’m sorry.” 

When they glanced back up, they were shocked at the relief that broke over Otabek’s face.

“Oh,” he said, “ _oh._ Okay. Well… that’s good.” 

“ _Huh?!_ ” Yuri exclaimed. “I — I just rejected you! How is that good?” 

“I’m not too big on the idea of dating,” Otabek explained. “I mean, if I liked someone, and they liked me back… I guess I would give it a shot. But you don’t, so it doesn’t matter.” He leaned back, smiling with relief. “Now I don’t have to worry about it.” 

“You’re really not disappointed?” Yuri asked.

“No,” Otabek said.

“And… this isn’t gonna make our friendship weird?”

“No,” Otabek repeated. He swirled his chopsticks through his noodles. “I’ve been worried that I made it weird at Four Continents. I was testing the waters with that dinner, but I should have just talked to you straight-up.” 

“I was wondering about that dinner,” Yuri said. Sipping a spoonful of broth, they admitted, “I’ve been worried that _I_ made it weird when I came out.”

Otabek’s eyes widened.

“What? No!” he said. “Of course not.” 

“Then…” Yuri paused, the weight of the other thing they’d been meaning to bring up with Otabek pressing into their gut. 

_Come on. If you can turn him down, you can ask him this._

“…How come you don’t ever want to talk about it?” they asked.

“What do you mean?” Otabek said, brow creasing. “We talked about it a lot.”

“Yeah, on that one call,” Yuri countered. “But whenever I tried to bring up gender stuff at Four Continents, or on any of our calls after that, you changed the subject. So I thought you were kind of freaked out by it or something. Or that you just…” their stomach churned, “didn’t care.” 

Otabek leaned forward, expression turning serious.

“I do care,” he insisted. “I just didn’t want to bother you by asking a bunch of dumb questions.”

_Really?_ Yuri thought. _That’s it?_

“You can ask me whatever you want,” they assured him. “I mean, we barely scratched the surface before, so… I’ve pretty much been expecting a bunch of dumb questions.” 

“Good,” Otabek said, looking abashed, “because I have more.” He reached into his pocket for his phone. “I’ve been writing them down. I hope none of them are too awkward.” 

“There’s no such thing as awkward between friends,” Yuri said, holding out their hand. “Now come on, let’s see what you’ve got…” 

* * *

Yuri and Otabek arrived fashionably late to the banquet — not that anyone noticed. Everyone was too focused on Yuuri, now that they knew this was his last competition, to give too much thought to the silver and bronze medalists. A few judges and ISU officials eventually greeted them both, offering their congratulations.

“These things really suck for you, huh?” Otabek asked under his breath after Yuri had been called “Mr. Plisetsky” for the fourth time in less than two minutes.

Yuri cracked a grin. They’d given Beka a thorough explanation of dysphoria over dinner, and even though they could already feel it digging into their skin like barbs, they were pleased to see how well he understood. 

“ _So_ much,” they replied. “It’s a good thing we missed the first hour.”

“We could just make a quick pass around the room and ditch out,” Otabek offered.

“I wish,” Yuri snorted, “but Yakov’s going to want to show me off to all the Federation people who are here and make me talk to potential sponsors.” They shuddered at the memory of their dinner with Lucas Andrews. “Anyway, tonight’s the last time I’ll ever have to deal with this,” they continued. “Next season I’m going to come out — to everybody.” 

Otabek blinked.

“Really?” 

“Yep,” Yuri said. “No more of these stuffy men’s suits, no more of this ‘Mr. Plisetsky’ bullshit — ” 

“No more men’s division?” Otabek asked.

Yuri barked out a laugh.

“I don’t think I can get away with _that_ ,” they said. “I actually don’t mind skating with the men — I just wish people would stop calling me one.”

“That’s fair,” Otabek said.

“Whatever else happens, no more being fake,” Yuri promised. “That’s the most important thing.”

Otabek patted their shoulder.

“I’m excited for you. I bet you’re really going to shake up the skating world.”

“Well, now that Katsudon’s retiring,” Yuri said with a gleam in their eye, “someone has to, right?” 

“I still can’t believe this was his last competition,” Otabek shook his head. He glanced sideways at Yuri. “You knew, didn’t you?” 

Yuri nodded slowly.

“I tried to stop him, but…” 

Otabek’s eyes softened in understanding.

“So that’s why you were such a mess before the press conference.” 

Yuri opened their mouth to snap back at him, but relaxed when they realized there was no judgment in his tone. Instead, they followed his gaze across the room, where he was peering at a familiar figure sitting alone. 

“Viktor looks about as sad as you did,” he observed.

“Shit,” Yuri said, noticing that Viktor was surrounded by empty champagne glasses, head slumped forward into his hand. “I’d better go check on him.” 

“Good call,” Otabek agreed. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Later,” Yuri echoed, leaving Otabek with a fist bump and rushing to Viktor’s table.

“Yurachka!” Viktor slurred when he spotted them. To their dismay, his face was red, eyes puffy and swollen. “Where have you been?”

“Why are you drunk?” Yuri demanded, ignoring his question.

“Oh, come on,” Viktor said. “This champagne isn’t enough to get me drunk. I _am_ Russian, you know.” He winked at Yuri like that was some big secret — and like it made a damn bit of difference in his ability to hold his alcohol, which (Yuri knew from far too much personal experience) it did not. “I’m just celebrating Yuuri’s big news!” he added, taking a swig from yet another glass.

“Celebrating, my ass.” Yuri poked his arm. “You look like you’ve been crying.”

“Happy tears,” Viktor sighed.

“Bullshit,” Yuri shot back.

For a moment, Viktor looked like he might protest — then he deflated, letting his head drop onto his folded arms. 

“I’m going to miss coaching him,” he admitted. His blue eyes glistened with tears, and one of them spilled down his cheek.

Cautiously, Yuri reached over and dabbed it away with their thumb. 

_What the hell?_ they instantly scolded themself. _That was a terrible idea._ They drew their hand back, but one of Viktor’s darted out to catch it. He tucked it between his crossed wrists, then laid his head back down, nuzzling his cheek against their palm. Yuri’s face burned. _Oh God, that was a really fucking terrible idea._

“Yura,” Viktor said after several moments of uncomfortable silence. “How would you like a new choreographer?”

_How do I know you’re not just going to run off to Japan like last time?_ Yuri thought bitterly, but they couldn’t say it — not while Viktor was this wasted. Instead they smirked, “You’ll have to work that out with Lilia.”

“Oh, just let her do your exhibitions,” Viktor scoffed. “I want to do your real programs.”

“I always do my own exhibitions,” Yuri said.

Viktor snickered.

“Guess you’ll have to fire her, then.”

“Nope,” Yuri shook their head, “she’d kill me in my sleep first.” 

Viktor sat up straight, finally freeing Yuri’s hand — but a second later, he pulled them into a hug, pressing their chest flush against his own. 

“Promise me you’ll let me do _something_ ,” he murmured in their ear, and the heat in Yuri’s face spread all the way down their spine. “Next season is going to be so boring without coaching Yuuri. I don’t know what I’ll do with myself.” 

“I know,” Yuri said against Viktor’s shoulder.

“Oh, come on,” another voice interrupted, “that’s not fair.” Yuri and Viktor broke apart, looking up at Yuuri’s face. “You’re going to make me cry all over again.”

Yuri nudged an empty chair closer, and Viktor pulled Yuuri into it.

The three of them stuck together for the rest of the banquet, firmly avoiding the topic of Yuuri’s retirement. Between small talk with skating officials and potential sponsors, they decided how they wanted to spend the upcoming off-season. Yuuri and Viktor were eager to help with Yuri’s new programs and plan their coming-out, suggesting all kinds of strategies to make sure their next season would go smoothly. 

The more they all talked, the more Yuri’s chest filled with emotion, until they felt like it was about to burst. _This is bad,_ they thought every time they caught themself blushing under Viktor’s gaze or melting at Yuuri’s smile. They glanced at their golden nails, a reminder of everything Yuuri and Viktor had done to get them through this competition, and squirmed at the memories of lying between the two of them in their bed. _How did this happen? You’ve let things get way too far out of control._

But they didn’t want to think about that. So instead they basked in all the good things that had come out of this competition. The fact that their friendship with Otabek wasn’t ruined. The reassurance that Yuuri’s dreaded retirement didn’t mean he and Viktor were going to abandon them. The plans they were already making for next year. 

For the first time in their senior career, Yuri finally had a new season they could truly look forward to. 

They smiled to themself. _I can hardly wait._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand that's all folks! I really hope you've enjoyed this fic! 
> 
> Also, don't worry — this is nowhere near the end of the whole story. (I still have to get the OT3 together, after all!) I'm already working on part two of this trilogy. I'm not sure when that will be ready to start posting, but I have everything fully outlined and one chapter written, so stay tuned. And subscribe to this series so you don't miss the next fic when it starts going up! :) 
> 
> In the meantime, feel free to check out my other [YOI fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTrashiverse/works?fandom_id=11444638). I've also been busy writing for the [Untamed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTrashiverse/works?fandom_id=33035890) and [My Hero Academia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTrashiverse/works?fandom_id=3828398) fandoms in case you want to check any of that out. And as always, you can keep up with my various random shenanigans on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/TheTrashiverse) (18+/NSFW).
> 
> Many, many thanks to [Darth_Claire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darth_Claire) for beta reading this entire emotional rollercoaster of a fic.
> 
> Thank you so, so much to those of you who've read this story and left me such amazing comments! I cannot tell you how deeply I appreciate it. I would love to hear what you thought of how I wrapped things up, and I hope to see you back for the next one. THANK YOUUUUUUU :)


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